


this is tailor-made (so what's the sense in waiting?)

by behindtheinnocence



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Drama & Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Post AYITL, Post-Canon, it wouldn't be literati without the angst, please god just let them get together already, rating is for mild language, slight references to sex, the two keep dancing around each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 74,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behindtheinnocence/pseuds/behindtheinnocence
Summary: "A perfect fit," she murmurs softly, enjoying the feel of the ring on her finger."I've always thought so."
Relationships: Rory Gilmore & Jess Mariano, Rory Gilmore/Jess Mariano, Rory Gilmore/Logan Huntzberger (barely)
Comments: 134
Kudos: 660





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: none of these characters are mine except for Emmy Gilmore. Please don't sue me. 
> 
> Also includes references from famous movies/tv shows/books.
> 
> Title comes from Dashboard Confessional's "As Lovers Go."

“Tables?”

“Check.”

“Chairs?”

“Check.”

“Balloons?”

“Check.”

“Stars and planets?”

“Check.”

“Plates and napkins?”

Hands rummage through the numerous bags on the table.

“Check.”

“Cake?”

“Sookie will bring it on Friday.”

“Finger food?”

“Luke’s going shopping tomorrow.”

“Glow in the dark paint?”

“Check.”

“Glow sticks and bracelets?”

“Check.”

“Costumes?”

“Finishing the witches tonight --”

“They’re celestial beings.”

“Hard to claim that title when you’re missing the halo.”

“Hey!”

“-- And Miss Patty’s bringing the shawls and hats.”

They both take a long breath and look at each other.

“Is that it, kid?”

Rory looks down at the list in her hand and rereads it a final time before finally smiling in relief. “I think so.”

Lorelai reaches an arm out and pulls her daughter in a hug. “She’s gonna love it.”

“I hope so,” Rory says as she lays her head on her mother’s shoulder. “Cause I don’t think I’ve ever planned a party this big. Are we sure we have enough room?”

“Forgotten those Russian tea parties already? That’s great. Now your grandmother is somewhere bemoaning the fact that I’ve brainwashed all the DAR out of you.”

“She’s got no case. I’m sure Jack has been brainwashing her since she hasn’t been back once in six years.”

“First off, you’re a devil child for putting that image in my head. Second, she’d never let that kind of technicality stop her from blaming me for yet another thing.”

They sigh in unison and slump towards each other.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“No problem, kiddo. If anyone has experience putting on extravagant last-minute parties on a tight budget, it’s me.”

Rory embraces her mom another minute before disentangling and turning her attention bag to the numerous shopping bags on the kitchen table.

She hears Lorelai speak behind her. “So what inspired the theme? Did you finally get around to watching the movie?”

“Nope, still in the queue until Saturday. Actually, Jess gave her his old copy a few weeks ago, and since then she’s been obsessed.”

“Old copy? I’m assuming by that you mean book?”

Rory nods. “Yup. He brought it with him when he stopped by a couple weekends ago. Somehow Doula had never read it, so Jess wanted to fill in that gap in her education, but she shot him down.”

“Smart girl.”

Rory turns on her mom, insulted. “Hey!”

“That’s not a dig at you, I promise. But you know, not every teenager spends their formative years absorbing as much classic lit as they can. Some people are too cool for that.”

“So now you’re saying I wasn’t cool?”

“What? When did I said that? Besides that’s impossible. I’m the queen of cool, and you’re my daughter. Obviously I passed that trait down to you along with the stunning blue eyes and charming wit.”

“Right,” Rory drawls.

“Case in point. You skipped school, you went to parties, and you had multiple boys fighting over you. Not to mention the looks and knowledge of pop culture.”

“Huh. Sounds like all that was missing was the teenage pregnancy.”

Lorelai gasps. “Okay missy. You can put the claws away.”

Rory snickers in response, turning back to organize the stars and balloons. Lorelai follows suit and they work in silence for a few seconds.

“What were we talking about?” Lorelai asks.

“Theme?”

“Oh right. So Jess gave her his book?”

Rory nods. “Yup, after Emmy demanded it, and she wouldn’t let him leave until he read it with her.”

“Well, she is a Gilmore girl.”

“That she is.”

“Okay then.”

Rory senses something in Lorelai’s tone. “What?” she asks suspiciously.

Lorelai glances back at her. “What what? I didn’t say anything.”

“You have that look.”

“What look? I don’t have a look.”

“The look that says I was expecting something way more interesting than Jess gave her a book.”

Lorelai sighs. “Well…”

“What?”

Lorelai peers at her daughter before responding. “I just thought for sure it was because of the absent father.”

Rory sighs in exasperation. “Mom.”

Lorelai shrugs in feigned ignorance. “I’m just saying, young girl that goes on a quest to find her missing dad is like putting up a smoke signal.”

“He’s gonna be there,” Rory stresses. “And how do you know the plot so well? Have you been watching the movie without me?”

“Hey, I read in my youth too. Just not as much as two weirdos who still to this day keep having the same Rand vs Hemingway argument. God, get some new material already.”

“Close your eardrums then, cause we’ll be having this argument until we die since we’re both too stubborn to give in.”

Rory sees Lorelai bite her tongue even though she clearly wants to say something, and she’s grateful. She and Jess are complicated enough without having Lorelai’s input on the matter.

It’s not that things are bad between them. She and Jess are great actually. Probably better than they’ve ever been. When he stopped by the Gazette about six years ago and gave her the idea for _Gilmore Girls_ , she had no idea that it would be the beginning of her and Jess “the friendship years.” Before then, they tended to avoid each other, coming home for opposite holidays. On the few occasions they did see each other, they kept everything short and sweet and impersonal, nothing that would disturb the murky waters of their history together.

When he found out about Emmy, and Logan’s involvement in making her, she was sure their tentative friendship would break, and they would go back to the casual acquaintances they were before. But, he surprised her. _He was always surprising her._

When she needed help with her book, he was there.

When there was a problem with the placenta detaching, he was there.

When she struggled with irregular cravings and morning sickness, he was there.

When she needed help assembling Emmy’s first crib, he was there.

He was steady, like a rock, and at first, she thought she would struggle with that image of him, given his penchant for running away as a teen, until she realized that he’s been a rock since he was twenty-one, always showing up and helping her out when she needed it the most.

She knows there’s talk around town about how long it will be before they get back together, but honestly, Rory’s glad that he seems just as content to stay in this friendship bubble they’ve created for themselves. It’s easy. Uncomplicated. Exactly what her life needs right now. Especially with Emmy in the picture.

But sometimes, when he jokes with Emmy or she smiles at him with pure happiness, there’s a twinge in her heart at what could have been. But she bats the thought away though before it can do more damage. When she and Jess are more than friends, they tend to hurt each other, and his subsequent absence hurts for weeks, is numb for years later. She needs him in her life, so friends they will stay. She’s determined.

Lorelai must have noticed her contemplative expression because she stills in her movements. “You sure he’s gonna be there?” she asks quietly, guessing Rory’s train of thoughts.

 _Right topic, just wrong ex-boyfriend._ Rory gives a pained smile before she blinks herself back to the main issue of the conversation. “He promised.”

“Okay. But just remember the numerous times your dad promised to show up and then failed to fulfil his fatherly duties—”

Rory cuts her off, not wanting to think about Christopher. “Logan isn’t Dad.”

Lorelai gives her a steady look.

“He’s not.” Rory reiterates sternly.

Lorelai stares at her for another minute before conceding. “Okay.”

They work quietly for a few minutes, securing the rest of the shopping bags in a tight knot and hiding them in various nooks around the kitchen.

Right when the silence starts to get stifling – they never did well with silence; It reminds them too much of their worst fights together – they hear the door open, and Emmy and Luke walk in.

“Mommy! MiMi!”

Rory panics for a moment when she hears her daughter’s voice until she remembers the presents are securely hidden in her bedroom. She relaxes and turns around to engulf her daughter in a big hug. “Hi babe! You have fun at the diner today?”

“Yup! Grandpa let me eat cake and ice cream today.”

Lorelai snickers and Rory tilts her head at her step-father. “Aw, Luke. You old softy.”

“She kept bothering me to try the coffee.” He gruffs out, staring at both elder Gilmores with a frown.

“Well of course she did, Luke. She is a Gilmore, after all.”

“Yeah Luke!” Lorelai cries. She picks up Emmy in a huge bear hug. “How’s my beautiful granddaughter?”

Emmy giggles. “Prettier, MiMi.”

Lorelai nods serious. “Because of the cake and ice cream, right?”

“Yup.”

“I keep telling your grandpa it’s good for our complexion, but he won’t listen to me.”

“Because you’re both crazy,” Luke grumbles out.

“And yet, he married me.”

“And I regret it every day.”

“He says that now, but wait until I get him alone tonight.”

“Mom!” Rory screeches.

“What?”

“Little child in your arms.”

“Oh please, you were exposed to worse language when you were three thanks to Miss Patty and husband number four.”

“That doesn’t mean I want my daughter to be exposed to your…. escapades in the bedroom.”

“What’s esapades?” Emmy asked.

“Escapades” Lorelai corrects. “It’s fun activities.”

“I want to have fun!”

Rory glares at her mother. “See what you did?”

Lorelai cackles but obliges. “Okay Emmy, why don’t you go into the bedroom and get ready for a bath, and afterwards we can terrorize your grandpa with the sounds of Metallica.”

“Okay MiMi!” Emmy wiggles out of Lorelai’s arms and scampers off to her room.

Luke just facepalms. “It’s like living with Jess all over again. I’m going outside.” And with that, Luke goes out the backdoor in the kitchen, leaving two Gilmores in the kitchen.

Rory just shakes her head in exasperation. Her mom looks back at her confused.

“What?” Lorelai asks.

“Why can’t you go by grandma like a regular person?”

“Because I’m not regular. I’m exceptional.”

Classic Lorelai response. “Okay, fair point. But why MiMi? Why not Nana or Lola or any other iteration?”

“Because originally, I wanted MeMaw. But MeMaw sounded too matronly and Southern, and though I can slay a ballgown like a southern belle, we know that’s not me, even though I love Scarlett O’Hara. And then I thought, well what if we just say MiMi? After all, she’s like the third iteration of me, so –”

“We named her after Grandma —”

“And myself. And since she’s named after me, it makes sense that her name for me is MiMi.”

“Like she’s two of you.”

“Exactly. You’re one of me. And now with Emmy, I’ve got two.”

“You’re crazy.”

“It’s the coffee. It makes my brain superior.”

Rory snorts. “Keep thinking that. Meanwhile, while you’re thinking MiMi is a suitable synonym for grandma, I’m gonna be thinking you’re the stripper that almost dies in Rent.”

“What stripper?”

“You know? The stripper? The one that has AIDS?”

“Don’t they all have AIDS?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Which means they all die at the end, right? Cause the cure hadn’t been invented yet.”

“It’s Rosario Dawson’s character.”

“Oh! The kitty cat!”

“That’s how you remember her?”

“With the leather and the animal print?”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Take me OOOUUUT tonight!”

“I give up.”

“Ah, the seasons of love.”

*****

She tucks her daughter into bed around 8pm, fluffing up the blankets and the pillows as she likes. Emmy burrows into the cocoon, and Rory’s heart melts at the sight. She’d do anything for this little bean.

She runs her fingers down her daughter’s smooth cheek as she flings herself back onto the pillow.

“So,” Rory starts, “someone has a special day coming up, huh?”

“My birthday!” Emmy squeals.

“No! Your birthday?”

“I’m turning five.”

“Already?” Rory fakes being confused. “But I thought you were turning four.”

“That was last year.”

“Last year, huh? I must have forgotten.”

“We should get you checked for Allhimers. You’re getting old, Mommy.”

Rory gasps. “Rude! How must we punish this insolence?”

“With kisses!”

“Well in that case…” Rory proceeds to kiss all over Emmy’s face as Emmy erupts in laughter.

“So kiddo, are we excited for your birthday?”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you could have anything you want on your special day, what would it be?”

“Anything?” Emmy asks.

Rory nods. “Anything.”

Emmy thinks for a moment before answering in a small voice. “I want Daddy to be there.”

Rory feels a hollow ache at her words, as if she’s the one that’s five years old and waiting for Christopher to show up. But Rory shakes the feeling away because Logan _isn’t_ Christopher and responds with a smile. “Well, it’s a good thing he says he’s coming.”

“Really?” Her daughter looks excited.

“Really.”

“He promised?”

“He promised.” Rory pushes the anxiety she feels away.

“Then this is going to be the best birthday ever!”

She laughs at Emmy’s exuberance and runs a hand down the blankets. “All right, little one. Time to go to sleep.”

“Can you read to me?”

“What book will it be today?”

“Wrinkle in Time!”

“Still not tired of it?” Rory asks as she grabs it off the small bookshelf.

Emmy shakes her head fervently. “Uncle Jess gave it to me.”

“I know he did.”

“He’s coming too, right?”

“Yes, he’s coming too.”

Emmy lets out a sleepy sigh. “Best birthday ever.” She snuggles deeper into the covers.

“Well let’s get you to sleep, and tomorrow, you’ll be one day closer.”

Rory opens the book and picks up at where the bookmark says they left off at. She doesn’t need to read for long before her soothing voice puts Emmy right to sleep. Rory pats her daughter’s hair affectionately before placing the book on her night stand and turning off the light.

*****

It’s Wednesday, and Jess is sitting at his desk at Truncheon, pretending to read the latest manuscript that’s trying to combine lucid fiction with psychological horror, and normally, he might be a bit more engrossed in the narrative, but his dumbass friends have decided to engage in yet another literary debate, this time revolving around who’s the worst misogynist: Thomas Hardy or Henry Miller. They don’t usually involve him anymore because he always wins, so usually he tunes them out, but this argument sounds promising.

They’ve been going at it for fifteen minutes.

“I’m telling you it’s Hardy, man,” Chris argues. “The man can’t write a positive outlook on women to save his life. I mean, the guy even tries to have a female as his protagonist, and then ends up having her raped, get married and then abandoned by her husband because she was raped, and then is essentially forced to marry her rapist, and ends up being executed for his murder. Killed for the one time she actually tries to wield her agency. At least Miller was secure enough in his masculinity to let a woman finance his most famous book.”

“A book in which he completely degrades women for having sex,” Matthew shots back. “He literally has a character whose sole purpose in the novel is to hate women.”

“Well, I doubt he was complaining much about sex when he was fucking Anais Nin.”

“Maybe not complaining, but he certainly didn’t count it as a virtue, what with calling sex an addiction.”

“Perhaps he was projecting. He did get married three times and cheated on all the wives.”

Jess laughs loudly, distracting his coworkers from their debate. Chris taps his finger against his chin thoughtfully while Matt gives him the stink eye.

“What do you think, Jess?” Chris asks.

Matthew facepalms. “Dude, you know we don’t ask for his opinion anymore.”

Jess puts down the manuscript and gives a wry grin at that before responding. “Well honestly, I think that both were just brainwashed under the rules of the Victorian Era, in which women must be seen as this pious angelic creature in order to be good. Miller, despite the insults, at least gets some points on showing that promiscuity in women wasn’t as unthinkable as some would believe.”

Chris gives a haughty grin in victory while Matthew sulks.

Jess continues, “However personally, I’d say John Updike was even worse because he lived and wrote during the women’s liberation movement, but that’s just me.”

He chuckles at the twin scowls that appear on their faces before trying to reread the same paragraph he’s been stuck at for the last thirty minutes.

Chris clicks his tongue in disdain while Matthew speaks. “See? That’s what we get when we ask the opinion of a Hemingway lover.”

“The worst misogynist of them all.”

Jess shakes his head and tunes them back out.

He’s almost to the end of the chapter when the phone rings, and the previous laidback energy disappears into a somber silence. The three men stare at the phone on Matthew’s desk in unison before eventually Matthew forces himself to move and answer.

They’ve been waiting for this phone call, and for them, it’s literally life or death.

He watches as Matthew gives a formal greeting, answers a few questions plainly, asks a couple of his own, and then slowly puts the phone back in its cradle, completely quiet and blank-faced. The conversation took maybe three minutes. It makes him nervous. Matthew’s always been easy to read, his exuberance noticeable on his face. But not now, and Jess can’t help but think that this is bad.

Very bad.

Truncheon’s gonna have to close bad.

He’s still staring at Matthew when his friend lowers himself into his chair like a sloth.

A quick glance at Chris shows that he’s not handling Matthew’s reaction any better. He’s jittery while standing in one place. “Did we—” Chris starts, but Matthew interrupts him with a hand.

Jess waits for the hammer to be brought down. When Truncheon almost went under seven years ago, he’d promised himself that they would do things differently this time, and they had. More organization. More communication. Less procrastination. And it was working. Until their best-selling author left them to write for a subsidiary of MacMillian, and now they were screwed unless they found another writer with as much star power as Donovan Hugh.

Matthew’s running a hand down his face now, something he normally does when there’s a huge problem, and suddenly Jess feels like he’s 18 again, flunking out of high school and getting kicked out by Luke.

Chris is chewing on his bottom lip in impatience, trying to keep silent. He fails a few seconds later. “Dude, would you just tell us—”

“Holy shit,” Matthew finally mutters.

Jess and Chris both freeze.

“Holy shit,” Matthew repeats, a bit louder this time. A spark enters his eyes, and Jess can feel the knot of anxiety slowly unloosen in his chest.

A smile makes its way onto Matthew’s face, and soon his whole face is lit up. “Holy _shit_!” he exclaims.

Jess watches the stress disappear from Chris’ shoulders.

“Does this mean we got him?” Chris asks excitedly. “ _Please_ tell me we got him.”

Matthew finally glances up at them. “We got him,” he affirms with a wide grin.

Jess feels his face start to mirror Matthew’s (but only for a second), and Chris lets out a whoop in excitement. “We got Damien Keller!!”

Matthew laughs in glee and pulls Chris into a bear hug. “We got Damien Keller!!”

“Damien Fucking Keller!!!”

The two stay in their embrace while jumping up and down. Jess just smiles and shakes his head, hiding his relief that he gets to keep working at this press that he loves with his best friends. Even if they are almost 40-year-old dumbasses.

Matthew and Chris still in place and turn their heads to him at the same time.

Jess feels his smile melt off his face and instinctively takes a step back. “No,” he warns.

Matthew brushes him off. “This calls for one.”

Chris nods. “Damien Fucking Keller.”

“Now get your ass over here before we force you.”

Jess releases a heavy sigh before reluctantly opening his arms. His friends grin and pull him into the hug. After a minute they break apart, and Matthew clears his throat. “There’s just one condition.”

Jess lets out another sigh. _Of course._

When Matthew stays quiet, Jess looks up, and finds Matthew’s gaze on him. Jess narrows his eyes at him. “What?”

Matthew seems to deliberate on speaking, and Jess can feel the nervousness from before coming back. “What?” he barks a little louder, letting irritation mask the slight panic.

Matthew flinches and sighs before speaking. “He’ll only sign the contract with you as his editor.”

Jess waits a minute, to hear if there was more, before he rolls his eyes. Fucking drama queen. “Why do you say that like it’s a problem?”

“It’s not. Cause you’re gonna be at the meeting.”

“Me?” Jess asks, eyebrows raised sardonically. “No way. Why would I be at the meeting? I personally think Keller’s too much of a sell-out for Truncheon. We should just wait for the next Pushcart winner to sign with us.”

He almost laughs at Matthew’s red face and narrowly dodges his friend’s palm that would have slapped against the back of his head.

“Smartass,” Matthew grumbles.

“Stop being so stupid. When’s the meeting?”

“Now we know Damien’s a very busy guy, and he’s flying in between his interviews with Good Morning America and freaking Oprah, and we are so very lucky that he’s chosen our press to work with, so anything else is of lesser importance and –”

“Jeez, Matt. Just tell me when the meeting is.”

“Saturday at 2pm. You’re taking him to a late lunch at Vernick. And don’t worry about the price. We’ll find the money somewhere…”

Jess drones out Matthew’s voice because his mind can only fixate on one thing.

Saturday.

Emmy’s birthday is on Saturday.

He’s got a meeting with Damien Keller on Emmy’s birthday.

Fuck.

Eventually he notices it’s gone quiet, and he looks up. Matthew is standing in front of him, nervous, but with a challenging look in his eyes.

Jess’ eyes narrow in anger. “You knew I had Saturday off,” he says in a low tone.

“He specifically requested you—”

“To edit,” Jess bites back. He can feel the irritation broiling under his skin, and he does his best to stave it off from explosion. “I can edit the manuscript. That doesn’t mean I have to be there to watch him sign the damn contract.”

“He wanted you there.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Something about your piece in _A Public Space_. I didn’t question him. I just said yes sir.”

“And you couldn’t have tried to pick another day?”

“His agent said he can only be in town on Saturday.”

Jess glares at him with disbelief.

“It’s Damien Keller, Jess. _Damien Keller._ ”

Fuck Damien Keller. He doesn’t say it, but Matthew can read it on his face all the same.

“Hey, you want to take the chance, you’re free to call him back and tell him you can’t do the meeting. But then Truncheon’s life literally falls on your shoulders, and you have to find the next Pushcart author yourself.”

Jess lets out a growl in frustration because unfortunately, Matthew’s right, and if he wants to keep living this pretty nice life he’s become accustomed to, he’s gonna have to go to the meeting and miss the party. “Fuck!”

“What’s the big deal? It’s just a birthday party. There’s literally another one next year.”

“It’s not just a birthday party!” Not that he could really explain why to his friend. He can’t even explain to himself why this news upsets him.

“Yeah, it is!” Matthew shoots back, becoming irritated by Jess’ attitude. “Besides, she’s not even yours!”

Jess grows cold and clenches his fist, but before he can throw a punch to blow off some steam, Chris is between the two of them. “Okay, that’s enough. Get out of here, Matt.”

Matthew shoots him a dirty glare before he strides out of the room.

Chris turns to him with an apology written in his eyes. “We need him, Jess.”

He unclenches his fingers slowly. “I know.”

“I’m sure if you explain, she’ll understand. And I know you’ll make it up to her.”

Jess takes a breath to steady himself. “Yeah…”

“I’ll talk to Matt and make sure you get next week off.”

Jess nods and Chris grips his shoulder in reassurance before walking away.

Jess slinks down in his chair and stares at his desk. He knows he’s being irrational. Maybe it’s because he knows how it feels to be a kid and be disappointed. Maybe it’s because Emmy’s Rory’s, and somehow he’ll always feel like he has to make up for his teenaged mistakes. Either way, he can’t shake the feeling that missing the party is a mistake.

But, he knows Matthew’s right. He knows they need this, and it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

He pushes his frustration aside and grabs the phone, dialing Rory’s number.

She picks up almost immediately. “Freddy! Lucy’s actin’ crazy.”

He chuckles at the sound of her Ricky Ricardo. “Crazy for Lorelai or just crazy for ordinary people?”

He can hear her smile through the phone. “Crazy for Mom. She’s convinced Taylor to let her glitter bomb the town square for the winter carnival this year. Says it makes a nice frosting.”

“Yeah, what date is that again? I need to make sure I won’t be in town for that one.”

“Oh? Is your masculinity so insecure as to not handle a little glitter?”

“My masculinity’s fine thank you. Or did you forget the time Emmy painted my nails?”

“Aww they were such a pretty color too,” she coos.

He fakes hacking. “Well, I prefer them au naturel.”

“I’m sure,” she snorts.

They enjoy a moment of companionable silence before she pipes up again. “So, what’s up?”

“You sitting down?”

“No. Should I be?”

“It… might be best.”

“Okay. Sitting. Go.”

He takes a deep inhale. “We got Damien Keller.”

There’s a pause. He wonders if Rory even heard him. The he hears her say, “What?”

“We got Damien Keller,” he repeats.

“You what?!” she yelled.

“Please don’t make me say it again.”

“You got Damien Keller.” This is starting to sound familiar. _You looked it up? You wrote a book?_

“Yup.”

“Oh my God, Jess!” she gushes.

“Yeah.” He’s glad she’s proud. It still makes his heart skip a beat. He just wishes it was under different circumstances.

“That is so amazing! I’m so happy for you.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait, why do you not sound happy? Should we not be happy?”

“No, I’m happy. We’re happy. It’s just-”

“What?”

“He wants me to sign him.”

“Really? Oh my God, now Dave Eggers is definitely shaking in his boots.”

“Still don’t think he’s heard of us.”

“Well he will after this. Damien Keller.”

“You can join Matt and Chris as his fan club.”

“Um… almost the entire literary world is his fan club.”

He tips his head. “True.”

“So what’s wrong?”

The moment of truth. “The meeting’s Saturday.”

She falls silent again, and his skin prickles, and then, “Nooo!” she wails.

“I know,” he mumbles.

“Jess.”

“I know.”

“You can’t move it around?”

“It’s the only time he could meet. And Matt will literally kill me if I miss this one.”

“Well honestly, under any other circumstance, so would I. It’s Damien Keller.”

She huffs and curses under her breath. “Shoot!”

“How mad are you?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Really,” he deadpans.

“I’m not,” she gently stresses. “I’m disappointed, for Emmy’s sake. She was really looking forward to you being there. She was all set with you playing Charles Wallace.”

“The smart brother that barely speaks?”

“I know, it’s perfect for you.”

And now he wants to punch himself in the face.

“Rory, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Is she there?” He swallows to moisten his dry mouth. “Can I talk to her?”

“Yeah, one sec. She’s with Mom.”

He hears a door open and her shout in the distance. “Emmy! Uncle Jess is on the phone!”

He guesses she went outside. Perks of living next door to your mother. Not that he has an idea or want of what that feels like.

He waits for another minute, and the he hears a breathy exhale on the phone.

“Uncle Jess!”

“Hey you!” He smiles.

“I miss you! I can’t wait to see you! Mommy says you’re coming on Saturday!”

She sounds so excited.

And he has to disappoint her.

He’s a horrible human being.

Fuck Damien Keller.

Fuck Matt.

Just… fuck.

“Yeah… Emmy listen… something came up at work, so I’m not gonna be able to make it.”

“You’re not coming?” It’s a broken halting voice, and he hates himself.

He’s the worst human being on the planet.

He pushes the words out of his mouth. “Not on Saturday. But I promise I’ll be there Sunday, and we’ll spend the whole day together, okay?”

There’s no response. Fuck.

“Okay Emmy?” he asks again, a bit desperate.

“Okay.” She sounds so small.

He’s the scum of the earth.

He doesn’t say these words often, but he says them now as they’re itching to get out. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He’s a pitiful existence for a man.

“Let me talk to your mom.”

“Okay.”

Rory comes on again, more subdued. “Hey.”

“How bad is it?”

“I’ll talk to her. Will you be able to come at all this weekend?”

“I’ll be there Sunday.”

“Okay. We’ll see you Sunday.”

“Rory, I-”

“I know. It’s not your fault. Life just happens. Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah.”

She hangs up, and he wants nothing more than to bash his skull against the wall.

*****

It’s Saturday, the day of the party, and Rory’s mad because she should have known better. Really, she should have.

After all, the world gave her a sign. Jess wasn’t coming. That alone should have had warning bells ringing in her head because since Emmy has been born, Jess hasn’t missed any important events.

But no, Rory’s determined to give Emmy the best party, and so she convinces herself that everything will be all right. Emmy is going to love it.

At first, everything is fine. They hold the party in the backyard. Combined with Lorelai’s backyard next door, they have a ton of space. There are sections designated for certain activities. They have the celestial centaur corner, where Babette, Patty, and Gypsy are dressed in gaudy costumes and big hats as Mrs. Who, Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Whatsit. There’s another corner with glow in the dark paint for the Happy Medium scene. Lorelai sits at a table behind a crystal ball. In another corner Taylor’s dressed in red as the evil eye of Camazotz. And in the last corner, Lane is dressed as Aunt Beast to heal Emmy from her horrible fight with Taylor. 

Everything is set up and perfect, just waiting on one thing. The missing father.

And really, that’s an apt description, because it’s been a couple hours and Logan still hasn’t shown up.

Emmy wanted to wait for her father, but eventually, they have to start or they would have done all of this for nothing. So she convinces Emmy to go to the celestial corner, and maybe by the time they make it to Taylor, Logan will be there.

Emmy obliges, and Rory feels herself becoming irritated with bitterness the more she watches Emmy turn her head whenever a new guest arrives. And irritation become protective anger when her daughter’s face falls in disappointment.

He had promised. She had promised. And apparently it was all for naught.

She could see Emmy’s mood plummeting the longer the party goes on, and so she grabs her phone and quickly dials Logan’s number.

No response.

She wipes her forehead in frustration and her hand comes away wet.

Why is her hand wet?

She looks up, and the sky is dark and pelting huge sheets of rain into her face. In seconds, everyone is soaked. She hears a scream and looks as the party essentially breaks up.

“Okay, everyone, let’s take the party inside!” Lorelai yells as people run for cover. Luke’s grabbing the paint, Jackson and Lane the food, Babette and Patty the presents, Sookie the cake, and Kirk –

Kirk is slipping on a patch of wet grass into Luke, who stumbles and gets paint all over Babette, who drops the presents which Patty then trips over and knocks into Jackson, who slips with the food and falls into Sookie and –

Rory stares in horror as she watches Emmy’s cake, the beautiful galaxy cake Sookie spent hours on, fall and smash against the ground.

And then she hears her daughter call for her. “Mommy?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can I have the magic glasses now?”

Rory blinks in confusion. “The magic glasses?” she asks. And then she remembers. Mrs. Who’s glasses. Which she forgot to put on the list. Oh no.

Emmy must see the answer on her face because she starts to cry.

Rory’s heart breaks into a thousand tiny pieces. “Emmy,” she says softly, reaching for her, but Emmy runs to their house and slams the door. And all Rory can do is stand with slumped shoulders as the rain comes down.

Yup. She should have known.

After all, fives are bad.

Didn’t Natalie Portman teach her that?

***

Eventually they get everyone inside Gilmore House #2, and Lorelai is busy handing out towels to everyone.

Rory, Lorelai, Luke, and Lane all try their hand at getting Emmy to come out of her room, and they all fail.

Rory thinks she’d rather relive Mitchum telling her she doesn’t have it for the rest of her life than to have her daughter locked in her room, crying on her birthday.

An hour later, guests start leaving, giving their presents to Rory, who stacks them on top of the coffee table.

“Cheer up, honey. She’s still young,” Babette says as she leaves.

Patty gives her a pat on the shoulder. “Yeah, she’ll have another one next year. She probably won’t even remember this one.”

Great. That’s exactly what she wants to hear.

Kirk steadily apologizes, and Rory tries to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault until he bloats and runs to the restroom.

Taylor tuts and looks on in disgust. “Well this is the last time I ever come to a kid’s birthday party. Especially with such incompetence. And you used to be such a bright young woman too.”

Rory lunges to rip out his throat, but Luke gets to him first. “Taylor! Get out!”

An hour after that, the only people left are herself, Lorelai, Luke, and Lane.

She slumps down onto the couch, her head in her hands, as Lane runs circle across her back.

“Rory, it’s gonna be okay.”

Then they hear a car door slam.

A tendril of hope fills her, and Rory grabs it, lifting her head up. She looks out the window, and where she’s expecting to see a silver Porsche, there’s a black 1970s charger.

Jess’s car.

Rory opens and closes her mouth like a fish, and Lane nudges her. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

“He wasn’t,” she says in disbelief. She stands up as he knocks on the door and opens it, and all she can do is look at him.

He halts when he sees her. “Hey,” he greets, giving her a half grin. 

“What are you doing here?”

For some reason, she feels full of gratitude. Like she’s saved. Like maybe this birthday wouldn’t be such a disaster after all.

He shrugs and turns his head to the floor. “Just couldn’t miss it.” He places his present on the end table next to the door.

Her eyes start to water, her lip trembles, and since she can’t have a breakdown right now in the midst of the party’s destruction, she does the next best thing. She hugs him tight, hoping his arms will be enough to hold her steady.

They are.

She breathes in the moment, and then freezes because –

“Oh my God. Damien Keller.”

She feels him stiffen in the embrace. She pulls back and gazes at him. “Jess, you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” he reiterates. “I went to the meeting.”

“And?”

“And I might have left the lunch a little early.”

“Jess,” she groans, letting her head fall back into his chest. “It’s Damien Keller.”

She can feel his chest move when he chuckles.

“Who’s Damien Keller? Oh hey Jess.” Her mom walks up to them with two cups of coffee.

Rory pulls away and grabs one. “Only the hottest literary author that Jess was supposed to sign to his company, but instead he’s here.”

“Oooo, he’s hot?”

“Well, actually, yeah, but I was thinking more along the lines of best-selling. He wrote _Back Into Dust_.”

“Ohhh, that really weird book you tried to force me to read a couple months ago.”

“It’s not weird.”

“It is weird. The last time I read something that weird, it was when I read Jess’ book.”

Jess tilts his head in surprise. “You’ve read one of my books?”

“Yeah, the first one, the submarine or whatever.”

“ _The Subsect_.”

“Yeah, that one.”

“And you thought it was weird?”

“All that timey-windey stuff, I couldn’t make sense of it. If you had just told it straight, I probably would have liked it.”

Jess smiles broadly. “I’m honored.”

Lorelai nudges her daughter. “You’re quiet all of a sudden.”

Rory is quiet. Because she just had an epiphany, thanks to her mom. She feels excitement breaking on her face, because _holy crap_ – she looks at Jess, who’s already shaking his head at her. He always could read her thoughts.

“No way,” he states.

Rory feels her face about to split in half. “No wonder he wanted to sign with you.”

“You’re cracked.”

“You guys are kindred spirits.”

He scoffs. “I’m not like him at all.”

“Maybe not personality-wise.”

“He’s a much better writer than I am.”

“That’s debatable. Personally, I think your piece in _A Public Space_ warrants the same kind of attention as _Back Into Dust._ ”

“Rory, he’s a Pushcart winner.”

“You could be too,” she insists. “You just need a better publicist. Someone who’ll promote your work better.”

“Put the pom-poms down.”

She sighs. “Fine. But you know I’m right. You both write about broken families in similar non-linear ways. I’m surprised I didn’t realize it before.”

He shakes his head again and looks around the living room. “Where’s the birthday girl?”

Oh.

Oh man.

She’s a horrible mom. Here she is talking about books while her daughter’s locked up in her room crying.

Jess must read her crestfallen expression, because instantly his brows are furrowed in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just a failure who can’t even throw her daughter a birthday party without ruining everything.”

“The rain’s not your fault.”

“I could have read the weather reports.”

“Too boring.”

“Not to mention I forgot the magic glasses.”

“An easy thing to forget in all of this.”

She scowls at him in exasperation.

“Seriously Rory, this looks great.” He gestures to the stars and planets hanging from the ceiling.

“Really? You think deflated balloons and ruined paint are great?”

He looks at her, does that studying thing he does where he can read right into her soul, and obviously he finds what he’s looking for cause the next words out of his mouth are, “He didn’t show up, did he?”

She lets the silence speak her disappointment.

He runs his hands through his hair, seemingly frustrated. “Rory, why didn’t you call me?”

“Cause you were supposed to be in a meeting with a hot-shot author, and I’m supposed to be her mom. I should be able to handle it.”

“We all need help sometimes –” Lorelai wordlessly gives her assent. “—Where is she?”

“In her room. We can’t get her out. Not to eat or open presents or anything. Everyone’s already left because Rory Gilmore can’t execute a simple birthday party.”

“Not everyone.” He rubs his thumb against her elbow, and she shivers at the touch.

“Maybe she’ll come out with her favorite uncle here.” He grabs his wrapped present from the side table, and she leads him to Emmy’s door, Lorelai following behind.

Rory knocks lightly. “Emmy,” she calls softly. “Uncle Jess is here.”

She hears a rustle of blankets and then a pouty, “No he’s not.”

“Yes, he is. He’s standing right next to me. Jess, say something.”

“Something.”

She pokes him in his side. Hard. “Ow,” he mutters, rubbing the spot.

She, Jess and Lorelai wait quietly with their ears near the door.

They could hear Emmy say, “Uncle Jess said he wasn’t coming.”

“I know I did,” Jess says seriously. “But what kind of uncle would I be if I missed my favorite girl’s birthday?”

“A bad one.”

Lorelai covers her mouth to stifle her laugh. Rory shoots her a glare.

Jess has to bite his lip to keep composure. “Well, you’re not wrong. Hence why I’m here. You want to unlock the door, let me in?”

They hear the sound of her sliding off her bed. They see the shadow of her little feet under the door. They wait for the door knob to turn, but there’s just silence.

“Emmy?” Jess prompts, his knuckles rapping lightly.

“No!” Emmy shouts. “I don’t believe you! You’re trying to trick me!”

Jess hides his face behind his hand while Lorelai snorts.

“It’s not funny,” Rory hisses.

“Emmy-boo, why would we trick you?” Jess asks.

“You want me to come out.”

“Sound reasoning skills that one,” Lorelai mutters.

“Well, if we’re trying to trick you,” Jess says, “who am I supposed to be?”

“An imposter! A shapeshifter!”

He turns away from the door and stares at Lorelai and Rory who have guilty looks on their faces. He clicks his tongue. “You guys have been showing her way too much Supernatural.”

Rory and Lorelai point at each other. “It’s her fault,” they say.

He rolls his eyes and turns back to the door. “Okay, but would a shapeshifter have my license? Would he have your present?”

“…No,” Emmy says hesitantly.

Rory’s ears perk up. Now they’re getting somewhere.

Jess continues. “Well if you open the door, you can see both of them.”

The three adults lean towards the door with baited breath. 1…2…

“….No.”

All three wilt.

“Emmy, come on,” Jess pleads. “It’s me, I promise.”

“If you’re really Uncle Jess, then slide your license under the door.”

They’re dumbstruck.

“Wow,” Lorelai finally states as Jess digs into his back pocket for his wallet. “If there’s ever a robbery attempt, at least we know we’re raising her right.”

“Mom! Can you be serious please? We’re trying to get her out. Not make it worse.”

“Oh, is that what we’ve been doing?”

Jess rubs his fingers against his license thoughtfully. “You know,” he starts. “I could just use this and pop the door open myself.”

Rory turns to him sharply, both tickled and annoyed at the suggestion. “No Jess,” she slowly says as his eyes dance with mischief. “That’s a breach of trust.” She gives him a hard stare.

He sighs and looks away. “Spoil sport.” He slides his license under the door.

Rory glances at him as he stands back up. “I thought you got rid of your artful ways,” she whispers leaning towards him.

One side of his lip curls. “You can never take the Dodger out truly, Rory.”

Their eyes meet, and Rory has to fight hard to keep a grin from spreading across her face. The moment’s interrupted when they hear the knob turn and the door swings open. Finally.

Emmy stands in the doorway with an angry pout. “You said you weren’t gonna be here,” she says to Jess.

He kneels down to her level. “I know. I was wrong.”

“You lied, Uncle Jess.”

“Well if you think about it,” he drags out, “me being here negates the original lie, which is me not being here. Cause I promised your mom I was gonna be here.”

“What kind of logic is that?” Lorelai asks.

“Shhhh!”

Emmy stands there thinking on Jess’ words for a minute before her face slowly lights up. “Which means you’re not a liar?”

Jess gives a smug nod as Lorelai rolls her eyes. “Exactly.” He grins as Emmy runs into his arms.

“I knew you weren’t bad, Uncle Jess!"

“Oh boy. Good thing she didn’t know you at 17.” Rory elbows her mother in the stomach, but the damage was done.

“What happened when you were 17?” Emmy asks Jess curiously.

He deflects like a master. “Let’s talk about that later. Right now, I believe it’s presents time.”

“Presents!” They walk towards the living room, and Rory stares after them unable to keep the tender smile off her face.

Lorelai notices. “It’s a good thing Jess was here to bail you out, huh?”

Rory shoots Lorelai a glare and walks away from her knowing grin.

Even though the party was disassembled and the cake was ruined, Emmy’s got a huge smile on her face the rest of the night as she sits on her uncles’s lap and opens the presents. Rory breathes an inward sigh of relief and Lane softly pushes against her shoulder.

“See? Told you it would be okay.”

“Yeah.”

After the presents, Luke brings over freshly baked cupcakes and together the adults in the small group watch with cups of coffee as Emmy eats all the frosting and reads from her new collection of Nancy Drew books (courtesy of Jess of course).

Rory’s cellphone rings, and she grabs it. Her face drops. It’s Logan. A really selfish part of her wants to ignore him, but there’s always a chance that Emmy would want to talk to him, so she swallows her frustration and answers the phone.

“Logan.” Everyone stops and turns to her.

“Hey Ace. How’s everything?”

“I don’t know, Logan. How would things be if your five-year-old had a birthday in which her dad didn’t show up, even though he promised he would?”

Logan sighs. “Ace-”

“So what stopped you this time? Odette? Your dad? Finn and Colin?”

“I had to work.”

“Well that’s nice. So glad you thought of us enough to pick up the phone and call-” she checks the time and does the math, “- at 2am your time. Wow Logan. You completely missed your daughter’s birthday.”

Another heavy sigh. “Is she there?”

“Yes.”

“Can I speak to her?”

Rory doesn’t say anything, debating whether to just end the call.

“Please Rory?”

Hearing the plea in his voice, she softens.

“Emmy, your dad wants to speak to you.” When Emmy nods, Rory puts the phone on facetime and gives her the cellphone.

Logan’s face is visible in the screen. “Hi Daddy,” Emmy says meekly.

“Hey Em. How’s my birthday girl?”

“Fine.”

“Yeah? Did you have a good birthday?”

“Uncle Jess made it better.”

“Uncle Jess, huh?” Lorelai snickers at the obvious jealousy in Logan’s voice. “Good man.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in London.”

“Why weren’t you here?”

“I had to work.”

“Uncle Jess had to work but he’s still here.”

“…Yeah…”

“You promised you’d be here.”

“I know, pumpkin. I’m sorry. Why don’t I make it up to you? I’ll be in town in a couple weeks and I’ll take you to wherever you want to go. The opera, the zoo, you name it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Emmy-”

“No! I’ve got Mommy and Uncle Jess and MiMi and Grandpa and Aunty Lane and Uncle Kirk and everyone in Stars Hollow. I don’t need you. Stay in London!” She hangs up the call to the delight of everyone but Rory in the room and throws the phone away from her. Rory scrambles to catch it before it hits the ground.

“Emmy!” Rory scolds.

“Boom drops the mic!” Emmy yells with her hands raised over her head proudly.

Jess and Lane are hiding their laughs behind a cup of coffee while Lorelai openly cackles.

“That’s my girl!” Lorelai exclaims.

“She’s my girl, and you’re a horrible influence.”

“Come on, Rory,” Lane says in between chuckles. “You have to admit that was awesome. Even Luke is smiling.”

Rory turns sharply to Luke and sees that he’s hiding a smirk behind his hand. She throws her hands up. “Fine,” she states, but she turns to her daughter. “But no more throwing phones,” she says sternly.

Emmy deflates. “Yes, Mommy.”

Rory points to the bathroom. “All right, babe. Let’s get you ready for bed. Say goodnight.”

She watches as Emmy gives a kiss to everyone before running into the bathroom. The last four guests stand up and stretch out their limbs. She gives her Mom and Luke a hug as they head out. Lane promises to call her in the morning. She calls for Jess before he leaves, and he lingers in the doorway.

“Thank you,” she says earnestly. “Really. I think this would have been a total disaster if you hadn’t shown up.”

“I don’t think it was that bad.”

“It was,” Rory insists. “You can stay here for the night if you like. I know it’s a long drive back to Philly.”

“I would, but I can’t. I’ve got a very important author to meet with tomorrow.”

“To sign the contract?”

Jess gives a lazy smirk. “He already signed. More to go over the contract in fine print.”

“Wait, he signed?”

Jess nods.

Rory feels a knot of tension loosen in her back. “That makes me feel so much better.”

“See? Didn’t ruin anything.”

“Except a birthday party.”

“Not even that.”

Rory ducks her head away from the warmth of his face.

“Will we see you again soon?” she asks.

“I should have some time coming in the next couple weeks. I’ll carve some space out. Doula’s been bothering me for a visit too.”

“Good, I’ll see you soon then.”

He nods . “See you soon.”

She closes the door with weightless shoulders and goes to check on Emmy.

After the bath, Rory’s tucking Emmy into her bed. She kisses the top of her head gently when she’s completely under the covers.

“I’m so sorry babe. This isn’t the birthday I wanted for you.”

“I had fun.”

“You did?”

Emmy bobs her head. “Can we get some more glow in the dark paint though? I didn’t get a chance to paint with it.”

“Of course. Whatever you want.”

Emmy grows quiet after that, a sad pensive look on her face, and Rory’s heart constricts.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“It’s still my birthday, right?”

“Until the clock strikes twelve, and the carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”

“I can wish for anything?”

Her face softens. “Yeah babe. Anything.” She moves a strand of hair behind Emmy’s ear. “What do you want?”

Emmy fiddles with her hands, a nervous tick she picked up from Rory, before she states in a really small voice. “I wish Uncle Jess was my daddy.”

Rory’s heart stops.

She doesn’t know how long she’s like that, frozen in this moment, but eventually she feels Emmy snuggle closer and lay her head on Rory’s leg. Emmy looks up at her, her blue eyes clear. “Are you going to read?”

She shakes herself and grabs the Nancy Drew book from before, continuing where Emmy left off until she could feel her daughter’s breaths even against her skin.

***

Sleep evades her that night, like a ghost her fingers can’t grasp. Emmy’s words revolve around in her mind, and it’s a painful jolt at each revolution.

She knows rationally it’s impossible. If Jess was her father, then she wouldn’t have been born. She needs Logan’s DNA to be her beautiful unique self. But her wish still stabs all the same.

Because if Rory’s honest with herself, in another life, a life in which she was braver and gave Jess the second chance he asked for, she knows he would have been. Emmy wouldn’t have been the same. She would have had different hair, maybe even different eyes, a different smile and a different set of quirks. She probably would have had a different name.

But she would have been his.

It’s a future she’ll never have because she chose otherwise.

And after tonight, that knowledge hurts worse than anything.

******

When he gets back to Truncheon, Matthew is immediately on his ass.

“You selfish asshole!”

“Hey!” Chris tries to grab him, but Matthew shoves him off.

“You self-serving annoying prick!” he screams in Jess’ face. He yells some more with threats of termination all of which Jess calmly nods at. That probably was the wrong move cause Matthew’s face turns an eerie shade of red, and he throws a wild punch that Jess smoothly catches in his hand.

“You’re gonna bring Truncheon down just because you can’t control your fucking dick!”

Ironic, considering him and Rory have never even had sex, not that he could ever convince his friends of that. Matthew throws another punch that misses badly, and Jess is starting to think that he might be drunk.

“Matt! Enough!” Chris wraps his arms around Matthew in an effort to calm him down. Matthew struggles, but Chris has a strong hold on him and eventually he gives up. Chris carefully lets him go when it’s clear Matthew’s not going to fight any more.

“I hope it was fucking worth it,” Matthew spits. “But when she fucking breaks your heart again, don’t come crying to us.” He stalks off, pounding up the stairs and slamming the door to the upstairs apartment.

Chris looks on forlornly and gives Jess a look that says he’s also pissed.

“What were you thinking, Jess? We needed this.”

Jess wordlessly reaches into his satchel and pulls out the signed contract from earlier that day.

Chris stares at it, stares at upstairs and back again before he lets out a huff. “You know, I think Matt’s right. You are a prick.”

Jess smirks.

Chris rolls his eyes. “You really had me worried.”

“After 15 years, and there’s still no trust. Maybe I should look for new employment.”

“As annoying as you are, it would be more annoying to break someone new in.”

Jess shakes his head and looks up the stairs to where Matthew was. “You got it?”

“Yeah, I got it.” Chris starts heading upstairs. Once he’s half-way up the staircase, he turns back to Jess. “Was it worth it?” he asks.

Jess thinks of Rory’s grateful smile, of the way Emmy lit up in his arms, and the answer easily falls from his lips. “Yeah, yeah it was.”

***

He meets Keller bright and early the next morning with the best coffee Philadelphia has to offer and his sincerest apologies. Keller waves him off, surprisingly more down to earth than his agent let on, which Keller lets slip is because “if everyone knew I was such a softie, they’d take advantage of me in no time.”

A front. He knows very well what that’s like. Granted he uses sharp words and sarcasm as his deflective shield, not an agent that sounds like the male counterpart to Miranda Priestly.

The meeting is brief, quickly going over the details they weren’t able to over lunch. Jess emphasizes the importance of the author’s creative control and reassures Keller that they want to publish his novel as closely to his vision as possible.

They talk money, resources, the chances of possible editions, and by the end of the meeting, both have a clear understanding of what this partnership will entail.

Jess feels good, Matthew’s threats long forgotten. In fact, Jess feels he should be knighted for this. Or at least have Matthew’s ever-eternal thanks.

Before they part, Keller looks over at him, contemplative. “You know,” he starts, right as Jess is feeling uncomfortable. “I’m not a dad. Don’t have any plans to be either. But I hope that if I get the opportunity, I’ll be able to put my kids first too. Do what our parents never did for us.”

Keller gives him a shy smile, and Jess thinks maybe Rory was right. Maybe they are kindred spirits.

He shakes Keller’s hand and promises to get started on the edits right away.

When he makes it back to the apartment, Chris waves hello from the sofa and Matthew is stirring oatmeal on the stove. His back is to Jess, but he can tell from his movements that Matthew knows he’s there. He waits a moment to see if Matthew will say anything.

Matthew taps his finger along the counter before sighing. “Sorry I tried to hit you.”

“Sorry I provoked you."

And that’s it.

He puts his documents away in his room and flops onto his bed, suddenly in need of sleep. He thinks of Damien’s words, of being better than his parents, and there’s an ache in his chest at this dream unfulfilled. When he was younger, he never imagined a family for himself, considered himself to messed up to truly care for anyone. Rory may have taught him he has the capacity to love, but the subsequent ruminations of their teenaged relationship only served to strengthen his belief that a family was out of the question. Further adult relationships that have long since crashed and burned only served as added proof.

He likes his life. Loves his job. Loves his friends. He considers himself lucky to have even made it this far. But sometimes…

He spreads his hand out over the empty space beside him.

He’s 38 and still lives like a bachelor, and though he likes his life, it’s in these quiet moments when he can admit to himself that he wants more.

And maybe that’s why he spends so much time with Rory and Emmy. He doesn’t have to be there. He has no obligation to her or them, no matter how much the guilt of his 18-year-old self tries to tell him otherwise. He can leave, find a nice girl, settle down, buy a house and a dog and live his life. But he knows he can’t, because eventually he’ll do what he always does: he’ll come back to Rory.

Sometimes he really wants to go back and punch his 18-year-old self in the face. Because now that he’s older, he understands Luke better. He gets why he never made a move. Because though he wants more, these small moments he shares with the two of them are enough.

They’re enough.

They’re worth it.

They’re worth the wait.

There’s no guarantee that he and Rory will have the same happy ending as Luke did with Lorelai. After all, Lorelai never truly rejected Luke the way Rory has with him. Their one break-up when Rory was in college was because Luke decided to pull a page out of Jess’ book when he found out about April.

And even though Lorelai ran to Christopher, it took just mere months for that flimsy lie to disintegrate, and soon enough Luke and Lorelai were back together.

But, Jess reminds himself, Luke did have to watch Lorelai marry another guy, and he hasn’t had to do that with Rory yet, so maybe…

Maybe…

He turns over onto his side and lets the memory of Emmy’s laughter lull him to sleep.

******

It’s three months after Emmy’s birthday, and Gilmore House #2 is as crazy as ever. With _Gilmore Girls_ being re-released through Penguin Books, Rory finds herself much busier these days. The re-release led to her book making it on the NYT Best Sellers list, and that’s come with more press, meaning more functions, more interviews, more readings, more money.

Don’t get her wrong. She’s happy about the money. But right now, she could use a break in her schedule and instead, she’s busy chasing after a half-naked Emmy covered in chocolate sauce and whipped marshmallows who she’s trying to force into the bath – “But I’m a walking s’more, Mommy!” – and her hair and make-up isn’t done, her shirt’s still wrinkled, and she hasn’t eaten anything in seven hours.

“Please Emmy,” Rory pleads as Emmy slips through her fingers and runs back towards the kitchen, heading for the graham cracker crumbs. “Your dad’s gonna be here any minute. You don’t want him to see you like that, do you?”

“Maybe he’ll think I’m tasty!”

Rory literally groans. “ _I’m_ gonna think you’re tasty if you’re not in that bath in three seconds!” she growls.

Emmy freezes with wide eyes.

“One,” Rory warns.

Emmy gulps.

“Two,” Rory whispers menacingly.

Emmy takes off like a rocket and locks herself in the bathroom.

Rory slumps over onto her knees, breathing heavily. Finally.

Normally, she would have Lorelai here to keep Emmy occupied, but she’s off with Luke to Nantucket to visit her grandmother. Even Lane, her usual back up, is spending the night in New York with Zach and the twins to see Motherhead Bug in concert. And what is _she_ supposed to be doing? Getting ready for her book reading in Brooklyn, and yet she’s struggling trying to get herself ready with a five-year-old cookie monster.

She glances at her watch and emits a loud “EEP!” because Janice, her book agent, was going to kill her if she wasn’t out the door in an hour, and she was already 30 minutes behind.

Her cell phone rings, and she groans again until she sees it’s Logan calling, and she almost melts with relief.

“Logan! Please tell me you’re seconds away.”

There’s silence on the other end and her face falls. “Logan?” she tries again.

“Hey Ace,” he says in cheery yet guilty tone.

She knows that tone.

“You’re not coming,” she states.

“I’m sorry, Ace.” He’s all apologies and suave voice explaining that his father booked him for this meeting with another publisher, and that he’s got to be there or it’s another case of bullshit that she just can’t hear anymore.

“Fine.” She says calmly. She wants to be angry, but she can’t waste the energy. And frankly she’s tired of having the same argument over and over. “Choose your dad over daughter yet again. I’m done caring at this point.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep relying on you and making plans around when you say you’re going to take her and then be left holding the bag every time. Like Emmy said, we don’t need you. I’ve got Mom and Luke and Jess and Lane and quite honestly, I prefer it that way because these are people that I can trust to actually be there when they say they will.”

“Ace come on. I’m stuck here. I’ve got responsibilities-”

“So does everyone else, or do you think you’re the only person with a job? With a life to support?”

“Of course not, but I’ve got a company to run-”

“Oh, of course. Nothing compares to the great Huntzberger conglomerate. How could I forget?”

“Ace-”

“You know Jess is in publishing too, right? Did you know that the day of Emmy’s birthday, he was busy signing Damien Keller to a contract?”

He whistles softly. “Big fish.”

“Yeah, but even he still managed to get the contract signed and the rest of the meeting moved around to come to a little birthday party of a five-year-old who really wanted him there. You know why? Because that’s what a f-“ she cuts herself off, surprised at the words in her mouth.

“Because that’s what a what?” Logan’s voice is hard, from her implication she’s sure.

“Because that’s what a person does when you care about someone. You make time for them. You’re here when you say you’re gonna be here.”

“I care about Emmy, Rory.”

“Then show it,” she spits back. “And if you keep disappointing her like this, then you can consider your visitation rights revoked.”

He seems surprised. “You can’t do that. I’m her father.”

“Apparently only in biology. And don’t even worry about getting the courts involved, because I’m pretty sure they’ll side with me, no matter who you bribe.”

“Rory-”

“Tell Mitchum I said screw you.” She ends the call with a satisfying click, but soon she can feel the anxiety seeping through her body. If she had more time, she would grab her tapping shoes and do a quick dance to burn off some the energy. But right now, she’s got to find another babysitter ASAP or she’s screwed.

Mom’s out. Luke’s out. Lane’s out. Grandma’s out. Paris is at a conference in Beijing. She scrolls through the list of her contacts, and she’s tempted to just call Janice and ask if she can bring Emmy along. And then she sees Jess’ name under Janice’s, and she pauses.

She’s seen him a couple times since Emmy’s birthday, and each time she hear’s Emmy’s wish repeating in her head, so inevitably she freaks, makes things awkward and leaves before she’s able to spill something embarrassing out of her mouth. He seems to take it in stride though, his eyes only showing curiosity and a bit of amusement. Not concern or anger or anything else that would make Rory spazz up with worry.

It would take him at least four hours to get here. Logically, that would mean he’s out, but maybe, she thinks, she could still call him and get him to watch Emmy overnight. She was planning on driving back, but she could book a hotel, so that way his trip wouldn’t be wasted over a couple of hours of babysitting. And then she could just beg Caesar to watch Emmy until Jess makes it into town.

Assuming he can, of course.

Her finger lingers over his name and before she can talk herself out of it, she calls him. She is desperate after all.

It rings for a minute before he picks up. “Yeah?” he says harshly into the phone.

“Oh. Sorry. Is this a bad time?”

“Rory?”

“Yeah.” And there goes her last resort. “Never mind, it’s not important. I’ll just-”

A voice in the background asking for Jess stops her, cause – “Is that Kirk?” she asks bewildered.

“Yes,” Jess growls into the phone. “And he’s seriously testing my patience.”

Her heart’s beating a mile a minute. “You’re in Stars Hollow?”

“Yeah, covering the diner for Luke with him and Lane out of town – Jesus Christ Kirk. Take your fucking sandwich and get out of my face!”

She hears Kirk’s response through the phone. “But it’s not made properly. It’s supposed to go lettuce, tomato, cheese, and then the bacon, with a little bit of mayonnaise on the bread. And it’s supposed to be cut-”

“I don’t give a shit! You’ll get the sandwich I give you!”

“But Luke always makes it like this for me.”

“Do I look like Luke to you?”

“Well, kind of, in stature, and face structure, and maybe eye shape-”

“Get out!” Jess barks.

Rory starts giggling over the phone. How is it that she already feels better two seconds after talking to Jess?

“I’m glad you find this funny,” Jess grumbles.

“I can finally get rid of those Lenny Bruce records.”

“Keep ‘em. They’re a classic. What’s up?”

“How long’s your shift at the diner?”

“I’ve got a few hours. Caesar’s doing the dinner rush.”

“How would you like some company?”

“You? Always.”

Her insides jump at his sincerity, and she finds herself blushing. “Um… how about if she’s shorter, and younger, and thinks she’s a walking s’more?”

There’s a pause. “A what?” he finally asks.

“She got into the chocolate sauce, and the whipped marshmallows, and I was just able to stop her from adding the graham cracker crumbs.”

“A s’more.”

“Yup.”

His laugh is like music to her ears and she’s warm to her core. “What do you say, Joe? Help a girl out?“

“I think I can squeeze her in. How long do you need me to watch her?”

“Um... well, I’ve got a reading in Brooklyn, and you know how those can go.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So, I’m hoping just until 10 or so, but overnight, just in case things get a little rowdy.”

“I can do that.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. I’ll bring her by in about,” she checks her watch and winces, “45 minutes?”

“Sounds good.”

“Later… wait. You’re on your cellphone.”

“Yup.”

“I thought there were no cellphones in the diner.”

“Nephew privileges.”

“Or taking advantage of the system while the owner’s gone?”

“Hey, what he doesn’t know.”

She shakes her head in amusement. “Still ever the hoodlum.”

“Of course. Or have you not talked to Taylor lately?”

She laughs at that. “Bye Jess.”

“See you.”

She hangs up the phone with a beaming smile and finds it quite easy to finish getting ready.

***

Forty minutes later, Emmy is clean and properly dressed, and she’s finishing the last touches of her makeup when there’s a knock at the door. She answers it and it’s Jess. He smiles and she mirrors it, although slightly confused. “I thought we were meeting at the diner.” She moves to the side to let him through the doorway.

“We were, but Caesar came in a couple hours early and liberated me. Said something about wanting a little extra money.” He says it smoothly, but there’s a tint in his eyes, and she picks up on it.

She smiles knowingly. “Kirk came back, didn’t he?”

He glares at her and she soaks it up with a smug grin. The sound of pitter patter from the hall lets her know that Emmy heard Jess was here. And sure enough, she came running around the corner with her hair flapping behind her. “Uncle Jess.”

He beams and crouches as she takes a flying leap into his arms and he cradles her tight as he stands back up.

“I missed you!”

“I missed you too.”

“I thought Daddy was coming.”

Jess gives her a questioning a look which she answers with a pleading one of her own. He smiles and turns his head back to Emmy. “Well, I’ve been begging your mom to come see you, and she finally relented, deciding I was much better company than a stuffy old businessman.”

Rory’s eyebrows rise. “Jess!”

“But it’s true, Mommy!”

His cocky smirk is still truly magnificent.

She blinks away the stardust in her eyes and frowns at the two of them. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No!” Emmy shouts, clinging to Jess harder. “He just got here.”

“We’ll be good.”

“Scout’s honor.”

They both put up three fingers and nod in unison, and Rory’s struck dumb by the gesture.

Jess isn’t her father, but in this moment, Emmy looks just like him. Emmy’s wish paints itself down the spine of her mind.

“Okay then,” she says, blinking to focus her thoughts. “Come here, squirt.” She kisses Emmy on the top of her head.

As she straightens, Emmy yells, “Give Uncle Jess one too!”

And now she’s short-circuiting. Rory gapes. “W-what?”

“So he doesn’t feel left out.”

“Uh…” She looks at Jess who seems surprised by the request as well. But he masks it well, turning his cheek with a playful flip of his head.

 _He’s cute,_ she thinks as she bites back a smile and leans forward, gently pressing her lips right above his scruff. There’s a jolt in her stomach, and she quickly leans back wide-eyed. His expression matches hers.

He feels it too.

And God, now everything’s gonna be complicated. Before he can open up his mouth and say anything, she stammers out an “All right! I’m off,” and turns away.

“Knock ‘em dead.”

His voice behind her stops her in her tracks. She twists back and he’s looking at her, almost tentatively. And somehow, her brain supplies her with the knowledge that she hasn’t thanked him yet, so she lets the words slip from her mouth. “Thank you.”

He nods with a quirk of his lip.

“Bye Mommy!”

She tears her gaze away from him to her daughter. “Bye sweetie.” Emmy gives a little wave.

Rory grips her purse and walks out the door. As soon as it’s closed, she turns around and peers inside the little window. She’s breathless at the sight of Jess and Emmy, identical smiles on their faces, and she feels a yearning she’s never felt before burning in the pit of her stomach. It keeps her rooted on the porch unable to move.

_I wish Jess was my daddy._

_he could be he could be he could be_

Her phone jingles in her purse and she forces her gaze away to grab it. It’s Janice, making sure she’s leaving now to beat the rush hour traffic. She swallows heavily and pushes her legs to move to her car, even if it feels like she’s breaking herself in half to do it.

***

Ten hours later, Rory’s lost the buzz of the party and alcohol. She’s dead tired on her feet and barely making it up the stairs into her house. She jumbles her keys for a minute, leaning against the door and feeling her eyes about to close. Eventually she strains her eyes open and gets the key into the lock. She steps inside her house and blinks brightly at the light from the living room.

At first her mind thinks it’s just Jess doing some late-night reading, but she can’t find him anywhere. Instead she sees her curtains hanging from the ceiling fan and the couches standing on their sides. The tv is playing the DuVernay adaptation of “A Wrinkle in Time,” and there’s an empty box of pizza and a half-empty two liter of Pepsi on the floor.

She takes a few more steps inside, feeling angry and annoyed all of a sudden, because she wasn’t expecting her house to be as disheveled as she felt when she got home, but when she sees a pair of bare feet sticking out of the curtains and sheets she stops short.

There’s blankets and pillows on the floor, and she realizes: Jess built Emmy a fort. The knowledge touches her as she remembers her childhood with her mom. Some of her best memories were in that tiny shed with Lorelai coming up with creative ways to make it feel homely and safe. The nights they built forts with the bed and the shelves and cuddled under the blankets were the nights she felt the safest.

She peers around the curtains and sees fairy lights hanging off the top of the fort with what looks like tape. She follows the light’s path to the two sleeping figures on the floor.

Her heart stops.

Emmy is snuggled against Jess’ chest, her head just under the crook of his chin, and he’s got his arm wrapped tightly around her.

She can’t stop staring.

Before she knows it, she’s grabbed her phone and takes a picture of them. When she looks at it, the yearning’s back, thick and unmoving like a boulder that sits on her chest.

When there’s a shift against the blanket, she jumps, afraid of being caught like a peeping Tom. But it’s just Emmy shifting against Jess’ chest.

Rory swallows tightly.

It looks so natural. Like it was meant to be.

Before her mind can supply her with any more crazy thoughts, she turns and heads up the stairs to get ready for bed. She changes into her pajamas, washes her face, brushes her teeth. She brushes her hair, the curls unloosening into waves around her face. When she’s finished, she tiptoes back down the stairs to get Emmy into her actual bed.

She ducks under the curtain, getting onto her knees, and crawls over to where Emmy’s resting against Jess’ chest. She tries to pluck her from his arm, but Emmy squirms and lets out a small moan of protest. Jess moves and she freezes.

His eyes blink open.

“Rory?” His voice is thick and deep, heavy with sleep.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to wake you. I was just trying to get Emmy.”

He glances around. “What time is it?”

“A little after two.”

“That’s late.”

“Yeah.” She tries reaching for Emmy again, but she turns away in Jess’ arm.

“You can leave her.”

“You sure?”

He nods and blinks at her. “You can stay too.”

“Oh, but, I’m--”

He grabs her nightshirt and pulls her to him. She lands on his chest with a soft thud next to him. “It’s late,” he mutters in her hair.

She stiffens against him, completely aware that this is the closest she’s been to him in over a decade. Well, maybe not the closest. She does hug him after all. But this feels closer. This feels intimate. His breath starts to steady out and she shifts against him. “Jess, I don’t know--”

“Shhhh,” he lets out, barely a breath.

“But I--”

“Shhhhh.” His breath is even in seconds, and she knows he’s fallen back to sleep.

She could get up, climb the stairs to her room and her bed, and he would be none the wiser. But there’s a pull, like a thread that’s tethered to him, so she follows it, lays her head back down against his chest. His shirt is soft against her cheek, and she smells the faint traces of detergent, books, even a hint of old cigarette smoke, something he’s never been able to get rid of, even though he quit smoking years ago.

She melts into the familiar smell, a smell that’s distinctly Jess. Her eyes droop. Exhaustion sinks into her bones.

She’s asleep in seconds.

*****

When he wakes up, everything feels soft and light, and he’s half-convinced he’s in a dream state given the lights twinkling above him. But the weights on his chest are real, as is his numb arm, and for a moment he just watches, breathes in the sight of them. Emmy is curled up on his chest, her head nestled in the crook of his neck. Her bare toes barely reach past his hips. Rory is on his other side, loose curls collapsing into her face, her arm slung across his waist.

He feels that if he were to blink, the vision would disappear and he would be left with a hollow ache in its place. New York taught him not to dream. Liz taught him not to have expectations. Life and people disappoint you. They break you. It’s better to be alone. And he believed that everyday until he met the woman resting against him.

There were times in the past when he regretted meeting Rory, when one of their many ill-fated encounters left him crushed and struggling to breathe. And he promised himself the night she closed the door at Truncheon that he was done. For good. That he had to be, for his own sake. They kept things cordial and friendly in the years after, but there was always a bit of distance in their interactions, a barrier that kept them from getting too close. They kept visits short and sweet and intermittent throughout the years, only seeing each other at a handful of holidays.

And then he stepped into her office at the Gazette, and inspired her to write her book, and in no time at all, they had rekindled a friendship that rivaled the one in their youth, connecting over conversations of old and new books, of classic and new music, of eggrolls and junk food, and slowly her book came together and the old flame in his heart reignited into a new hope. He struggled against it, especially after finding out she was pregnant, but he succumbed to his feelings the second Emmy was born.

He could barely fight against one Gilmore girl. He was defenseless against two.

These feelings been simmering under his skin for five years, _for twenty_ , a present undercurrent in every conversation, every hug, every smile, every look into those crystal blue eyes. And with both of them against him now, he feels his heart will combust. He takes a heavy inhale, to breathe them in a final time before he gets up.

He keeps his movements small and slow, careful not to wake them up. He shifts Emmy to her side, and softly inches away from her. She wilts into the cushioned floor. He turns and drags his arm from underneath Rory. She stirs and he freezes, eyes wide on her face, afraid of her waking up, of what her reaction would be. She never did handle change very well. But she tilts her face and snuggles into the floor, and he breathes a small sigh of relief.

Once his arm’s back, he shakes it to gain feeling, and then stands up. He heads to the kitchen. Knowing the girls, they would want breakfast when they wake up, and he could at least give them that, if not what he truly wanted.

He grabs a new filter from the drawer and the jug of coffee grains from the shelf, and he gets to making the morning joe. As it percolates, he rummages through the fridge and is surprised to find some actual fruit and vegetables amid the various containers of take-out. He reckons it’s Luke’s doing. He finds a full container of blueberries, a half-one of strawberries, a mostly full carton of eggs, a stick of butter, and some milk _just_ past the sell by date. He smells it and there’s no foul odor so he takes it and places it on the counter with the other food.

He grabs flour and baking powder from the cupboard, along with a large mixing bowl and whisk, and soon starts mixing the ingredients for pancakes.

The coffee is finished soon, and he’s halfway done with the first batch when he hears small rapid footsteps and he knows Emmy is awake. She runs into the kitchen, sees what Jess is making, and yells “Pancakes!”

He immediately shushes and points to Rory still sleeping in the living room.

She winces and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Pancakes,” she repeats.

He huffs a laugh through his nose before pointing to both fruits. “Which topping?”

“Blueberry,” she whispers excitedly. She climbs into her booster seat and waits for the food, swinging her legs underneath her.

He adds the blueberries to the batter, and in a few minutes has a small stack ready for her to eat. He adds a little butter and syrup on each one and cuts them into smaller squares. He tells her to wash her hands as he finds some orange juice in the fridge and pours her glass. She gets busy with eating as soon as he hands her the plate.

Soon he hears a grumble behind him and he looks up.

Rory wanders in, clothes rumpled, hair disheveled and blue eyes bleary with sleep.

He thinks she’s never looked more beautiful in her life.

Her face scrunches up, ridiculously cute, and she holds out her hand, demanding.

He smirks and reaches over to pour her a cup of coffee. He pushes the cup into her hand, and she inhales deeply with eyes closed before taking a sip. Once she’s downed enough to save all of Stars Hollow from dehydration, she blinks her eyes at him and gives him a slow sweet smile. And fuck, he would do anything to have this every morning for the rest of his life.

He returns her smile and gestures to the fruit. She points to the blueberries and he whips up another batch, sliding them over to her when they’re done. He takes the strawberries for himself and finishes off the last of the blueberries in an extra batch of pancakes.

They eat together, the two adults grinning at Emmy who smacks around each mouthful, her appreciation evident on her face. It’s quiet, but Jess finds the solace peaceful.

And then a voice calls in the front hallway. “Where’s my beautiful daughter and my most precious granddaughter?”

Lorelai.

Shit.

Rory nervously looks at him before responding. “In here, Mom.”

“MiMi!” Emmy yells happily.

Jess swallows down his food.

He mostly gets on well with Lorelai nowadays, but she’s always been a bit of a wildcard when it comes to him and Rory. And he can’t imagine her reaction being any good when she finds out he not only spent the night, but also stayed the morning. It’s awfully domestic, and Lorelai will see him as domestic when Stars Hollow allows Kirk to be mayor. Which is never. He braces himself for an outburst.

Lorelai stops in her tracks when she’s in sight of the kitchen. “Jess?” she asks in a curious rather than accusatory tone.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

She studies the scene around her, the messy fort in the living room, the freshly cooked food on the table, and she comes to the conclusion he knew she would. “You stayed the night?”

Rory pipes up, probably trying to diffuse a possible argument. “I got back late, too late for him to drive back to Philly.”

Lorelai points behind her. “And the fort?”

Jess points at Emmy. “Her idea.”

Lorelai slowly nods and looks at the spread on the table. Her eyes brighten at the prospect of food.

“Pancakes?”

“Blueberry.”

“Uncle Jess makes the best pancakes!”

Lorelai squints her eyes at her granddaughter. “I’ll be the judge of that.” She sits at the empty seat at the table as Jess puts a few pancakes on a plate for her. Lorelai grabs it and then another empty plate, on which she puts a stack of butter and a pound of syrup.

Jess watches in amusement. “You sure you don’t want some pancakes to go with that?”

“This, nephew,” she points to the plate overflowing with syrup, “is for when I have to cover up the inevitable horrible taste of your pancakes.”

Rory rolls her eyes at her mother’s antics. “Mom, they’re good.”

“For you, maybe. But I’ve been eating Luke’s pancakes for years, so no regular pancake is satisfying anymore.”

He bends over to Rory and whispers at her. “Don’t you guys eat the same pancakes?”

Rory just gives him a pointed look. He chuckles and waits for Lorelai to take a bite.

She cuts a small piece of the top one, brings it to her nose and sniffs it, and when deeming it acceptable, puts the bare piece of pancake into her mouth. She chews, and her eyes go wide.

“What the hell happened in here?” Luke yells from the front door.

Lorelai hastily swallows. “Luke!” she yells. “Don’t come in here!”

“What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Bad things. Very bad things. Witchcraft, spells, potions.”

Luke rolls his eyes as he walks in but stops when he sees Jess at the table.

“Nephew.”

“Uncle.”

“Grandpa!” There’s syrup all over Emmy’s face, and it’s adorable.

Luke grins. “Hey kiddo.” He walks over to her and gives her a one-armed hug. He walks around the table and does the same to Rory.

“Hey Rory.”

“Morning Luke.”

Luke steps back with his hands on his hips and surveys the scene at the table. “So… pancakes.”

“Bad. Very bad,” Lorelai cuts in.

“They don’t look bad.”

“It’s devil magic.”

“Which means they’re good,” Luke deadpans.

“Eye of a newt, skin of a toad, blood of a virgin bad.”

“Wow, they must be really good.”

“They are!” Emmy exclaims as she stuffs another piece into her mouth. “He makes better pancakes than you, Grandpa.”

Luke looks at Jess with a questioning look.

Jess shrugs. “Less milk, fluffier eggs.”

Luke nods, as if satisfied with the answer, and then speaks as Jess feels the pit of his stomach drop. “Well, this seems… domestic.”

 _Here we go._ “This coming from the owner of a diner.”

Luke puts his hands up. “I’m just saying…”

“I made breakfast. Sue me.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” Luke says with a smirk.

Jess frowns and points at him. “Stop it.”

Rory’s watching the two with a wide grin on her face. “No, don’t Luke. He can’t deny the cat’s out of the bag now.”

Jess sighs. “Rory,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“We can ask the expert,” Rory says, looking at her daughter. “Emmy, do you think Uncle Jess is a nice person?”

“He’s the nicest bestest person in the whole world!”

There’s shock among two people at the table.

“You bribed her with the pancakes, didn’t you?” Luke asks Jess.

“You should know. Isn’t that how you got Lorelai?”

“Nope, he got me with the coffee.” Lorelai’s staring at the pancakes with a disgruntled look on her face.

Luke shakes his head. “Oh, just eat the pancakes already.”

“But Jess made them. They can’t be good.” Lorelai whines.

“He used to work for me, Lorelai. He knows how to cook.”

“As a waiter, Luke. And a horrible one at that. Do you remember his customer service?”

Rory giggles and Jess smirks. “I gave excellent customer service. It was the customers that were horrible.”

“I’m sure I’m just imagining all those monosyllabic and snarky conversations.”

“Hey, I left you with the coffee pot numerous times.”

“He has a point, Mom.”

Lorelai looks horrified. “Shush you. My mind can’t hold a conversation and comprehend that Jess might have been nice a couple times in his disaffected youth.”

“I keep saying I was misunderstood. Ow!”

Luke removes his hand and points at Lorelai’s plate. “Eat the pancakes.”

“But Jess--”

“I taught him how, so by proxy they’re made by me.”

Actually he learned how to make them from an older lady in an apartment complex he stayed at with Liz when he was eight, but he learned improvements from Luke, so he guesses that’s close enough to the truth.

Lorelai seems appeased by Luke’s answer and takes another bite.

Rory seems amused by her mother’s dilemma. She grabs a cup of coffee and slides it over to her. “You should try the coffee.”

Lorelai freezes and stares at the offending mug with a grimace.

Luke shows the exasperation on his face. “Again, I’m the one who taught him how.”

Lorelai takes a ginger sip and brightens at the taste. She quickly downs half the cup before clearing her throat and looking at Rory. “So daughter, what were _you_ up to last night?”

And that’s his cue to leave. He stands up and Lorelai smirks at him knowingly.

“Leaving so soon, Jess?”

“Yup. Gotta get back to Philly before rush hour. Got inventory to do tonight.”

“Truncheon includes working? Work that you actually do? Who knew, nephew?”

“Well Auntie,” he smirks back, “it’s no Stars Hollow Inn, but it has its moments.”

Lorelai drops her face into a scowl. “Get out of here.”

He tips his imaginary hat at her and walks towards the door.

Lorelai calls after him. “And if you happen to find a tree to wrap your car around, feel free to do so.”

“Mom!”

“Lorelai!”

“What? He knows how to walk away from a car crash. Don’t you, Jess?”

He knows it’s mostly jest now, but the jab still stings. Crashing the car and hearing Rory’s cry of pain is one of the worst moments of his life. And he’s been through a few.

He hears the scrape of a chair behind him and Rory calls for him. “Wait Jess, I’ll walk you out.”

He listens and they walk out onto the porch together. Rory closes the door behind him.

She gives him an apologetic smile. “Sorry about Mom. She is an acquired taste, that Lorelai.”

He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s a good thing I’ve known her for years then.”

She fiddles with her hands for a moment, and his feet itch to move.

“So, this was nice,” she says.

“Yeah. It was fun watching Emmy last night.”

She opens her mouth and then closes it.

“Rory?” he asks.

She twists her body a little and looks at the paint chippings on the porch. “I thought last night was fun too. And this morning,” she admits.

He’s distracted by the tinge of pink on her cheeks. He thinks he’ll always get a kick out of seeing her blush.

“Yeah. Bedhead Rory is adorable.”

Her head snaps up and she shoots him a glare, her face a delicious red. He bites his lip.

“Watch it, mister,” she warns.

He gives a broad grin in response.

She inhales and looks back at the porch. “I, um – I’ve got that literary dinner coming up in a couple weeks-”

“For the foundation, right?”

“Yeah, and I was thinking of letting Mom just babysit Emmy like usual, but after last night, I was thinking that if you wanted to, you could maybe… come down for the weekend? If you wanted to? And if you’re free from work that is. If that’s okay?”

His face goes blank from shock. He wasn’t expecting that. There’s a new stirring in his gut.

Rory looks at him, nervous. “Or not. It’s totally up to you. I just thought that maybe we could…”

“Yeah,” he quickly cuts in.

“Yeah?” The hint of a smile is at her lips.

He feels his lips turn up as well, cause this feels like… “Yeah. I mean, I’ve got to talk to the guys about it, but it should be fine.”

Her face brightens at that. “Good.”

He mirrors her. “Good.”

“So, we’ll maybe see you in a couple weeks?”

He nods. “I’ll call you.”

“Okay. Bye Jess.”

“Bye Rory.”

She goes back inside, and he stares at the closed door for a few minutes. He reruns the conversation in his mind and identifies the stirring as hope bubbling inside of him. He does his best to temper it though, tries to keep his expectations realistic. Every time he’s gotten his hopes up when Rory’s involved, it’s always ended badly.

 _But_ , he counters to himself, there was a spark of interest in her eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time, and his heart couldn’t help but jump after it.

He walks down the steps feeling lighter than he has in a long time. And when he starts the car and drives out of the driveway, he thinks maybe, just maybe, this could be the one dream he won’t be disappointed by.

*****

Two weeks flies by, and Jess is back at her house the day of the foundation dinner, in which she leaves early because she’s eager to get back, and they spend the weekend falling back into old habits. There’s thai food dinners that feel so much like the dinner dates she and Jess used to go on, when they’d rent a movie to mock. But there’s new activities too, with Emmy here as well. There’s hide and seek, and board games, and pillow fights, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been this happy. On Saturday night, when Emmy’s snuggled against Jess’ chest, she sneaks a picture and posts it to Instagram, ignoring the mocking she gets from Lorelai. And when they’re asleep, she stays staring at her phone, basking in the smiles of contentment on their faces.

In the morning, he leaves and goes back to Philly, and she gets a call from Janice.

When she first wrote _Gilmore Girls,_ she never imagined so many people would be interested in a mother daughter story. However, with the success of her book, Janice and her editor are now proposing the idea of a sequel, this time revolving around the adventures between herself and Emmy.

When they pitch her the novel, she suddenly realizes why Lorelai was so hesitant to have Rory share their story. There’s a level of vulnerability in writing about yourself as a mother. Being a daughter is easy. You can just blame your mistakes on your parents. But being a mother? Especially an imperfect one? She felt uneasy at the prospect of sharing her life.

But with a little convincing, she gives in, and suddenly she’s back to writing chapters and begging Jess to edit them. And soon it really does feel like the older days, before Emmy was born, when Jess would stop by with the latest chapters and takeout. Only this time, everything is better. Because Emmy is here. And Jess is…

She’s coming to terms with the fact that she likes him. Really likes him.

Probably even loves him.

Okay, maybe there's no probably about it.

Feelings that have laid dormant for so long have strengthened in their absence and have been blooming with every smile and every look of adoration.

She’s always been awkward handling emotions, but this…

This has felt easy. Comfortable. Like sliding back into a well-worn sweater at the back of her closet.

A part of her is scared, she always is a little when it comes to Jess because everything seems so intense, and even now, that hasn’t changed.

But she can admit this to herself.

She wants this.

She wants this with him.

The three of them just finished dinner and are rearranging the couches to remake the amazing fort. Emmy and Rory are laying the pillows and cushions on the floor while Jess is pushing the couches up until they’re vertical. Rory finds it hard to look away when his muscles contract underneath his shirt like that. But when Emmy whines at her to hurry up, she laughs and obliges.

It’s Emmy’s preferred way of sleeping when Jess is here.

If she’s honest with herself, it’s hers too.

They turn on the tv and settle amongst the pillows with Jess in the middle. _He’s always in the middle._

They put on something random for the ambient noise. Emmy is already lying against Jess, eyes groggy. She’ll be asleep in minutes.

Jess brushes his hand through her daughter’s hair until she falls asleep, and Rory watches them fondly.

Before she knows it, she opens her mouth. “Why aren’t you married?”

He stills and darts his eyes to her face. He thinks for a moment before he responds. “Well, why aren’t you?” he asks, trying to redirect.

She shakes her head at him. That won’t work this time. “I asked you first.”

He breathes in deeply and turns away, his brow furrowed for a moment. “I guess,” he starts slowly, “I just haven’t found that special someone yet.”

“There’s been no one over the years? No one to pique that interest of yours?”

She sees him throw a sideglance at her and she immediately thinks of Yale. _You know we’re supposed to be together._

She wonders if he still feels like that.

“There’s been a few over the years,” he says carefully. Her heart pangs at the thought of Jess loving someone else. “But it’s never been something I’ve ever been able to make work. I’m starting to think I’m not cut out for it.”

“I don’t believe that,” she says firmly. “You’re great with Emmy. I think you’re meant for more permanent things.”

“Well, you always did believe I was meant for better than I saw for myself.”

“And I was right.”

He gives her a soft smile at that. He tilts his head. “What about you?”

She looks down and fiddles with her shirt. “Same reason I suppose.”

“Why didn’t you marry Logan? You loved him, right?”

Yes, Jess was particularly familiar with how she felt about Logan. Even now, when she thinks about the night at Truncheon, she feels shame.

“Sometimes,” she starts. “Sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes you can have all the love in the world for a person, but the timing isn’t right.” She pauses and peers at him. He’s listening carefully, his gaze locked on her.

She looks away as she continues. “With Logan, I think it was more about fit. Mom says it has to fit. And as much as I tried, we didn’t. We belong in different worlds.”

She thinks of Logan’s proposal, how he proposed in front her grandparents and the entire dinner party. She thinks of the grandeur of his gesture, something that’s expected with his background. She thinks of scaffolds and Martha’s Vineyard and tango clubs, and while she’s fond of the memories, she’s calm. It doesn’t make her heart race or pang anymore.

She speaks again. “He gave me Emmy, and I’ll always be grateful for that, but I think our time ended with her.”

He nods, contemplating her words.

After that they’re both quiet, lost in their thoughts. Jess changes the movie to something more entertaining, and they watch the screen.

She finds herself blinking to stay awake, and soon she allows her eyes to close, welcoming the softness of cotton t-shirts.

Before she enters the state of weightless dreams, Jess’ voice enters her ear. “You’ll have it, you know?”

“Have what?” she responds sleepily.

“The permanent dream. The house, the job, the family with the guy you want.”

She wants to say she thinks she already has.

Instead she swallows and says, “So will you.”

“Nah, I think it’s too late for me.”

He hides it well, but there’s a sad crease to his forehead that she wants to soothe with her hand, but her limbs feel tired. She doesn’t know how, maybe it’s this connection between them that never goes away, but somehow she knows he’s referencing them and their several failed attempts at restarting their teenaged romance.

She thinks about now, about how they’re both unattached, how he’s over every month, a seamless part of her life, about how the timing could finally be right for them. She decides he’s wrong. Her feelings wouldn’t still be this strong if he wasn’t.

“It’s never too late,” she finds herself whispering.

She watches as the words take root in his mind, watches the crease fall in curiosity as he turns his face to hers. He stares at her, and she gets caught up in his eyes, so dark in the cocoon of blankets and couches. Sexual thoughts whisper their selves against her skin. She feels the urge to press her lips to his, but instead she averts her eyes and presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in deeply. They should wait for that, when they’re not under the spell of nostalgia and darkness. And when Emmy’s not sleeping on the other side of him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just brings his arm up to wrap around her, cradling her to his chest.

They fall asleep like that, minds pondering on what ifs and maybes, continuing the decades dance of cat and mouse lovers.

In the morning, everything is soft and light, and she feels like she’s floating in the strength of her feelings. She reaches for him, but he’s gone, along with her daughter. She smells the scent of coffee and eggs, and she’s still surprised that he’s always up before her. When they were younger, she or Luke would always have to drag him out of bed to get to school or work, but now, he’s up with the early worms.

She walks in the kitchen to see Jess leaning across the table and Emmy happily stuffing a bite of French toast in her mouth. Her gut tells her this is right. This is what she’s supposed to wake up to every morning.

Jess turns at her entrance, straightens and grabs a mug of coffee and plate full of food. He slides it over to the empty chair by Emmy. Rory smiles her thanks and digs in.

“So what are we doing today?” she asks turning to Emmy. Jess takes a bite of his French toast.

“We can go to the bookstore in Hartford! Uncle Jess can show me the sequel!”

Jess clicks his tongue. “We’ll have to do that next time. It’s back to the salt mines, Happy.”

Emmy pouts. “Already? But you just got here.”

“I’ve been here all weekend. Now I gotta go back home.”

“Will you come back next week?”

“That depends on how fast your mom writes.” He gives Rory a cheeky wink.

She responds with a flick to his forearm. He feints a wince.

She smiles at him and looks back at her daughter. “You like having him here, don’t you, babe?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jess smirks. “We should have you checked for brainwashing.”

Rory immediately turns and gives him a stern face, and almost breaks composure at seeing her daughter with the same face. Jess looks completely struck, eyes darting between the two.

Emmy purses her lips as if deep in thought, and then turns to her. “He should move in, Mommy. That way he’d be here all the time.”

God, she would love that.

At Jess’ wide eyes, Rory chuckles. “Well, that might be a bit too much.” She takes a sip of her coffee and thinks of the last few times they did this, this act of domesticity. She thinks of how much it doesn’t feel like an act. She thinks of how it feels like home. She feels happy.

“But,” Rory continues, giving Jess a side glance, “seeing you every weekend would be nice.”

He stills in eating and stares at her.

She bites her lip. “And, maybe,” she adds, her voice slightly shaky, _push through Rory,_ “if we still like it in the future, maybe we can make it something… a bit more permanent.” She nails her gaze to the table as she tries to keep the blush off her face.

He’s quiet though, and that forces her to look up.

He’s frozen watching her, disbelief etching around the corners of his mouth. “Permanent?” his voice croaks.

“Really?!” Emmy asks, her eyes bright with excitement.

Rory gives a shrug, trying to play at being cool. “Yeah, but first, perhaps a test run… to see if we like it.”

Jess seemingly dethaws and swallows his food. “To see if it fits,” he says slowly.

She nods and smiles. “Exactly.”

He bites the edge of his lip. “You may get sick of me.”

“Not true!” Emmy declares with her fork in her air.

Rory runs her hand over her daughter’s head, looking at her fondly. “I think I agree with Emmy. Besides, weren’t you the one that said my life would be dull without you?”

She takes a peek and sees him struggling and failing to hide a grin, and inside her, the butterflies are spreading old wings.

After breakfast she walks him out, and they both stand on the porch in a weird, but comfortable silence, portraying this new understanding in their relationship.

She looks up at him and he returns it before looking at his car. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. Goodbyes were never his strong suit.

When his eyes return to hers, she turns and presents her cheek. He huffs a laugh and steps close. When he bends down, she turns and connects her lips to his. He inhales his surprise, and she grabs the edges of his jacket to keep him close. She hears a thud, feels his arms wrap around hers, and a sigh escapes when he presses firmly against her. Over fifteen years since the last one, and yet his kiss still makes her feel heady and feverish, even when he’s taking his time, savoring the feel of her mouth.

There’s a crash inside and they spring apart, both aware of the tiny five-year-old inside. She shyly averts her eyes and tucks her hair behind her ears.

“Bye Jess,” she whispers.

He ducks his head to catch her gaze and give her small smile. “Bye Rory.”

His hand reaches out and caresses her arm before he grabs his bag and turns, headed towards his car.

She feels warm at the touch, even as he drives away.

*****

She’s busy working on the new chapter, eager to get it done by the time Jess arrives this weekend. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss, often getting distracted with pure giddiness, and even now, two days later, she smiles bright at the memory of it.

She’s in the middle of describing her absolute terror of when Emmy got colic for the first time, when there’s a knock at the door. She pauses for a moment, trying to figure out who it could be. Her mom’s out with Emmy, but she never knocks; she just walks right in. She guesses it’s one of the townies. At the second knock, she hurries to finish the sentence, saves the document, and goes to open the door. Logan’s standing on her stoop dressed in his usual suit.

“Logan,” she says dumbly.

He gives her that lazy smile. “Hey Ace.”

“What – what are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.”

She’s unimpressed with the banter. Right now she’s too confused and needs answers. Shouldn’t he be across the ocean, doing something with Odette or for his father?

Logan sees her face and clarifies. “Here to see Emmy and talk to you if I could.”

“Okay,” she drawls. “Well Emmy’s out with Mom right now, but,” she pauses, a little wary of what he could want. “I guess talking’s okay.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” She’s off balance by his visit, and she’s not quite sure what to think of it. She goes ahead and gets the obvious elephant out of the way. Better to just get it over with.

“How’s Odette?”

“Fine.”

“She make the trip with you?”

“No, she’s still in London.”

“Does she know you’re here?”

“I’m sure she suspects.”

Rory frowns. “Logan.”

He waves her off. “It’s fine. We’re not really seeing eye to eye at the moment.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Something like that.”

Rory processes his words, and she feels a familiarity at the situation. She’s about to pin it down when Logan interrupts her thoughts.

“How are things with you?”

“Good.”

“Emmy?”

“Good.”

“Your mom?”

“Good.”

He cocks his head at her answers. “The writing?” he asks, as if trying to probe for more information.

Rory relents. No use in getting into an argument right now. “Good. Working on another book actually. Jess is helping me with it again.”

He rolls his eyes. “Ah yes. Jess.”

Her brows furrow at his tone. “What? What’s wrong with Jess?”

“What can I say, Ace? The guy knows how to hold a grudge.”

“Well, it’s not like you’ve given him a reason to change his mind.”

He looks surprised at her attitude. “Touché, Ace,” he says soberly.

“If you’d like to, you can start by showing up more than once a year, keep the plans you actually make, call before you just randomly show up--”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I know I haven’t been around.”

“What a shocker.” The attitude is also a bit of a surprise to her, but then again, it’s not. She’s used to holding things in and letting them fester. She guesses that now’s a good chance to let some of it out, now that he’s actually here to let it out on.

He nods his head at her statement, fishing for words, until he speaks. “Look, it’s intimidating okay?”

His admission takes her back.

“I take a look at you and this family with literally the whole town inside of it, and every time I’m here, I feel like an outsider. She’s my daughter. I shouldn’t have to feel like an outsider every time I see her.”

“And who’s fault is that, Logan? You haven’t been here.”

“You haven’t made it easy for me to be here.”

Her head jerks in surprise. “W-what?”

“I’m just saying, every time I’m here, there’s always someone around, your mom, Lane, your freaking hunk of a boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

He shoots her a look that says “come on.”

“He’s not,” she repeats. At least not yet. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“That your ex knows my daughter better than I do? That she seems to prefer his company to mine? Hell yeah, I’m jealous!”

She’s unnerved by his anger, unsure of what he wants. She voices her confusion. “What do you want me to do, Logan?”

He sighs loudly before answering. “Look, I’ve rented an apartment in Stamford. I’ve got some business there with the Gazette. I’m gonna be here for awhile.”

She straightens her back. “You are?” To say she’s shocked would be an understatement.

“Yeah. And, if I could, I’d like to spend some time with Emmy.”

She feels a smile curving at the sides of her mouth. “I think she would love that,” she says softly.

Logan mirrors it. “Yeah. So would I. And I’d like that time to be alone.”

Her smile drops. “Oh.” She twists her hands.

She should have expected this. Of course Logan would want some kind of custody or visitation rights, especially since she threatened him the last time they spoke. Still, she feels anxious by the sudden news. But he knows Emmy’s hers. So as long as he doesn’t try to fully take her away from her, things should be okay.

“Well, that should be fine,” she says eventually. “I can drop her off at the apartment or you can pick her up here--”

“Yeah, that’s not what I meant.”

And now she’s confused. “Then what?” she asks slowly, feeling a sense of dread at his words.

“I want her to look at me like her dad, not anyone else. And she can’t do that if they’re around.”

Jess. He means Jess. She’s irritated at the implication.

“Look,” he says, trying to placate her. “I made a mess of things years ago, all right? I never should have married Odette. And if I could, I’d do things differently. I’d ask you to marry me.”

Her head shoots up at that.

“But honestly Ace, even if I had, I don’t think you would have said yes.”

He’s right. It hurts to admit, but he is. As much as she’s loved him, somewhere, deep down inside, she knows they never would have made it.

“And whether that has to do with you and writer boy—”

“His name is Jess,” she interrupts annoyed.

“—you and Jess,” he amends, “or not, you wouldn’t have. And maybe five years is too late to start, but I’d still like the chance all the same. And I’d prefer it without you and… Jess playing house without me.”

He shouldn’t know that. How could he know that? He doesn’t associate with anyone in her circle except for… “Did Grandma say something to you?”

He blinks in puzzlement. “No. I haven’t seen your grandmother in years, ever since she left the DAR.”

“Then how…”

He wiggles his phone. “Instagram’s been a great way at keeping updated.”

She frowns. Of course he saw the post. “A phone call, or you know, an actual visit would be great also.”

He sucks his teeth in acknowledgment. “True. Even without it though, it’s kind of obvious. You and Emmy talk about him all the time.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Please. It was obvious the night I met him. Why do you think I was such an ass that night?”

“Because you were drunk.”

“Well, that helped. You looking at him like the sun shone out of his ass helped even more.”

She’s dumbfounded. Had it really been that obvious, even back then? She thought she had moved on. She thought she was in love with Logan.

He sighs and gives a wave of his hand. “Look, whatever’s going on between you two, that’s your business. But my time with Emmy is mine, and I don’t want him around for that.”

“He’s family,” she argues. He can’t possibly ask her to push Jess away. Not now. Not when they were finally getting somewhere. Who did he think he was coming in here and making demands of her?

“I know, Ace. But I’m her father.”

“Only when you feel like it!” she yells. He has no right to play that card.

“Why do you think I’m here now? I’m trying to change it!”

“By asking me to get rid of Jess!”

“Can you honestly see me and him being civil with Emmy around?”

She droops. She knows Jess would never do anything to hurt Emmy. And she knows he’s got a better handle on his temper than he used to. But she thinks back to that one dinner at the bar in Hartford, how it only took a little bit of needling from Logan before Jess was walking out. And while he might not have thrown a punch, she knew he wanted to.

That was back when he didn’t know Logan. When he didn’t really have a reason to hate him. But now he does.

No, she really can’t picture it. Jess hates Logan. And Logan hates Jess. And the last thing she would want would be for them to fight in front of Emmy.

Telling Jess not to be around anymore. The idea of it seems preposterous. He’s written all over her life. To lose him now would be like losing a limb, and she doesn’t think she can do that. But doesn’t Emmy deserve the chance to know her father?

Logan must read her hesitation, because he continues in a softer tone. “I’m just asking for a few months, okay? Let me build a relationship with her as her father, and then you guys can do whatever.”

She finds she can breathe a little easier. Not forever. A few months. “A few months?” she repeats.

“Yeah. That seems pretty reasonable, right? And you said this is something Emmy would want.”

Rory can still feel her heart tearing in two at the proposal. On the one hand, this arrangement would give Emmy the chance to really know her father, in a way that she never got to when she was five. On the other hand, she’d have to give up Jess right when it seemed like they would actually work out this time. Wait. Not give up. Postpone. God, if that didn’t feel like an epitaph on their love life already.

But if it worked, and Logan was actually staying around, then she could give Emmy everything she never got as a child. And isn’t that the job of a parent? To give your child everything you can, especially the things you never did?

Her mind’s busy trying to come up with a pros and cons list, but Logan interrupts her.

He takes her hand in his and smiles that smile that used to make her go weak in the knees. “What do you say, Ace? Give me some time for me to know my daughter?”

Before she can really stop to think, she hears the “okay” fall from her lips and feels her insides catch on fire.

*****

Like Rory thought, Emmy is delighted to see her father on the couch when Lorelai drops her off. And after a brief discussion, the two parents agree to let Logan take Emmy back with him to his apartment for the night. Rory packs Emmy an overnight bag, goes over a few rules with Logan, and before she knows it, they’re driving away in his Porsche, and she’s left alone with her thoughts.

A few hours in, and already she’s worried she made the wrong decision. Which is easy to do with Logan, she knows. Something about his eyes, his smile, his voice, he can say a few words and get her to do anything. It’s always been like that, and even now it’s no exception.

Now that she’s alone, she tries to simulate a pro/con list in her head, but it doesn’t work. She’s too confused and anxious to think rationally. Logan, Jess, Jess, Logan, why do those words feel so familiar? Her mom’s voice rings in her mind: _it’s enough already._ But if she knew the right answer, wouldn’t she have made it already? Her heart tries to tell her that she has, but her brain keeps asking which one.

 _You know which one._ Why does that scare her more than anything?

She eats an early dinner, takes a bath and gets in bed. She does her best to sleep, but she’s restless. Her mind rages on.

The next day is more of the same, and even coffee doesn’t seem to help. Lorelai comes over, her usual exuberant self, but after a few minutes, Rory kicks her out, claiming sudden inspiration and a need to write. She promises to make it up to her tomorrow.

Logan drops off Emmy around five, and she’s wearing new clothes and a huge grin on her face. She talks a mile a minute as she jumps into Rory’s arms, and seeing her exhilaration loosens the knot in Rory’s chest. Logan gives her a grin as well and asks if he can have her that weekend. He’s got tickets to take her to see “Jewels” at the Bushnell Center. When Emmy looks at her with sparkling eyes, Rory agrees readily.

This is good. This is right. This is exactly what she wanted. For Emmy to have a relationship with her dad. For Emmy to be happy.

And begrudgingly, she agrees that not having Jess around makes things less complicated, and that’s good too. Simple, good, uncomplicated.

Everything Emmy deserves.

But at night, when Emmy’s long asleep, Rory grabs her phone and unlocks her screen. When she stares at the photo of Emmy against Jess’ chest, her heart burns.

By the time Friday rolls around, Rory feels her whole body’s ablaze. Sleep has been pitiful, so much so that even Lorelai has expressed some concern. Rory waves her off, doing her best to smile convincingly, and her mother doesn’t press thankfully. She’s jittery without the help of caffeine, and she has no idea how to make this all go away.

She’s able to keep up a front for her daughter though, her daughter that’s been so excited by the appearance of her dad that Rory feels guilty for questioning her decision.

But when Logan carries Emmy around, she can’t stop the slow clenching of her heart, as if someone has his hand around it. And when Logan comes over Friday with Emmy leaping into his arms, there’s a painful jolt in her chest telling her the man in the image is wrong.

He’s all wrong.

Rory pushes the feeling aside and smiles at the two of them, and she goes to get Emmy’s stuff for the weekend. When she comes back, bag in tow, there’s a knock at the door, and a male voice enters the space.

Jess.

She freezes because in her panic induced frenzy during the week, she forgot about the plans with Jess this weekend, and now everything is complicated because of Logan. She looks over at the father and daughter pair in the living room, and predictably, her daughter’s eyes light up as soon as she hears Jess’ voice. When Jess rounds the corner, Emmy is out of Logan’s arms and rushing towards him. Rory notices Jess halt as he sees Logan, but he masks it as he grins at the blonde plowing into his leg. There’s a molting in her chest at the sight.

“Uncle Jess!” Emmy squeals. She lifts her arms to be picked up and Jess obliges.

“Hey Emmy-boo.” Jess looks at Rory with a question in his eyes, but she averts her gaze. Meekly, she brings Emmy’s bag over to Logan.

Emmy is blissfully unaware of the situation. “Daddy’s here!” she exclaims.

“I can see that.”

“He’s taking me to the ballet!”

“Really? Well don’t tell Miss Patty, or she’ll have you wrangled into a tutu in no time.”

“No she won’t. Mommy and MiMi and Aunty Lane will stop her.”

“Oh they will, will they?”

“Uh-huh. With cymbals and The Clash, and Joe Drummer’s jacket.”

Jess gives a tender smile, and Rory’s heart aches. “Joe Strummer,” he corrects.

“Joe Strummer.”

Logan cuts in. “We should get going, pumpkin.”

Emmy swings her head to Logan. “Can Uncle Jess come?”

Rory’s not sure if she’s ever seen Logan look more displeased at an idea. Still, he smoothly recovers his composure. “I’m afraid not. This is daddy only time.”

Logan gives a smile, but Rory can tell it’s pointed. At her. Because she just promised Logan that Jess wouldn’t be around. Only she hadn’t been able to bring herself to have that conversation. She always did seem to prefer when confrontation came and bit her in the ass.

Jess sets Emmy down with a ruffle of her hair, and Rory feels like lava.

She wants this.

Why is it that right when she admits it to herself she has to push it away?

She sees Logan pick up Emmy and walk out and notices Jess’ eyes take on a hard edge. She swallows and hurries to her desk to try and act like she’s preoccupied.

She hears Jess drop his bag onto the couch, his hands rummage through it, and she knows he’s got the latest chapters she sent him. She quickly opens up a drawer and starts placing pens and bundles of post-it notes inside it.

His voice speaks behind her. “Here’s the chapters you sent me.”

“Thanks,” she replies distantly. “You can put it on the table.”

He does so, and they’re together in awkward silence for a moment.

In the old days, she would have to be the one to speak, to break the silence surrounding him, but it seems maturity has taught him some things because he breaks the ice first.

“What’s going on?” his voice suspicious, like he knows she’s acting weird. Because she is.

“Nothing,” she responds in a clipped tone. She doesn’t want to have this conversation right now. She wants to delay it as long as possible, so that she can keep this dream alive instead of in ashes.

“Why’s Logan here?”

“He’s in town on business.” She keeps her answers short, concise, but a glance out of the corner of her eye confirms that he knows what she’s doing.

“And?” he prompts gently.

She sighs and turns around. She never could hide anything from him. “And, he might be staying around for awhile.” She tries to sound nonchalant, for both their sakes.

He doesn’t buy it, judging by the click his tongue. “Huh.”

She stills, sensing something in his tone. “What?”

“About time.”

“Jess,” she says in warning, wanting him to back off from the topic. She’s a bit sensitive at the moment. Her heart’s all over the place.

“I’m just saying, it’s good he finally knows he’s a dad. It took him five years, but hey, better than nothing right?”

“That is not fair,” she argues. “You know the situation’s complicated.”

“It’s not actually,” he retorts. “It’s not complicated at all. You have a kid, you take care of it.”

And now she’s agitated. His blunt honesty always had a way of making her face reality. And he’s right. She knows he is. How could she not, when they both grew up knowing the damage an absent father could do. But she doesn’t want honesty right now. Because honesty meant listening to the fiery furnace of her gut that’s telling her she’s making a mistake. She’s making a mistake going along with Logan’s demands.

But she can’t be. Not when Logan is Emmy’s father. That’s not a mistake because her daughter isn’t a mistake. Still, she can’t settle her nerves, so she redirects. “Explains what you’re doing here then.”

His eyebrows rise at the attitude, clearly caught off-guard by her accusation. “I’m here because I’m family,” he says cautiously.

She sighs. “I know.” She turns back to her desk and starts rearranging her notes.

“Also because we made plans. Or did we get our wires crossed on that?”

She bites her lip to keep from crying. “Nope.”

There’s another few moments of silence until Jess gives a long sigh. “Rory, what’s really going on?”

What’s going on is that she’s scared. She’s scared she’s made all the wrong choices. That she should have never gotten off the bus, not without finding out what was really going on. That she should have told Jess she loves him, back when things could have been different. That she should have said yes and never slept with Dean. That she never should have taken Logan back. That she should have stayed at Truncheon that night.

_that she should have that she should have that she should have_

But she can’t take them back now. Not when her choices have led her to Emmy. And Emmy deserves everything, including the chance to have her father to herself. And despite how wrong the words feel coming out of her mouth, she says them anyways.

“I think maybe we’ve gotten a little too comfortable with each other.”

Jess frowns. “Meaning what?”

She wants to swallow the grief piercing in her throat, douse the fire that’s blazing underneath her skin, but she pushes forward anyways. “Meaning the sleepovers, and the breakfasts…” It hurts to think about now, about how right it felt to be in his arms, to wake up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of her daughter’s laughter. “I think we should stop.”

His face slowly falls. “But you said last week that—”

“I know what I said,” she states a little too sharply. “I changed my mind.”

“You changed your mind,” he repeats, sliding his glance over to the door, where Logan and Emmy had exited moments before.

“Yup.”

He’s silent for a minute before speaking again. “I don’t believe you.”

Of course he doesn’t. Because he can read her better than anyone. And surely he can read the lie in her red lips, where she’s bitten them to steady her nerves. Surely he can hear how furious her heart is pounding, see the flush of her cheeks, how hard she’s burning, how hard she’s trying to run. Funny how she always blamed that on him, but now she can add it to the list of how they’re truly similar.

“Rory,” he tries, asking for her to stop and look at him. She can’t, and she continues shuffling the papers on the desk, trying to gain some sense of organization in her thoughts. She moves away slightly, and he grabs her hand.

“Rory,” he implores quietly, and she can’t ignore him this time.

She looks, and she sees it: the wide eyes, the deep inhale he takes to steady himself. _I love you_ is on his tongue, but she can’t hear that right now, can’t allow him to say those words and break both their hearts _again_ , not when she has to push him away at least for the time being. Her mind’s buzzing of memories and regret and his inevitable words, and to make everything stop, she shouts over it.

“I don’t want a Luke!”

She freezes before the words catch up and enter into her brain.

The yell echoes off the walls in the room until it dissipates into nothing, leaving the two adults in silence.

He drops her hand.

She’s stunned to hear those words escape her mouth. Because they imply a million things.

That she never wanted Luke as a father figure.

That she would trade Luke for her dad in a heartbeat.

That she knows Jess has been filing Logan’s shoes.

That she doesn’t want him to.

That she doesn’t want Jess.

A million things, and they’re the complete opposite of what she feels. She immediately tries to backpedal. “I – I didn’t – I didn’t mean that,” she says, wide eyed, trying to swallow away the tears.

Jess is quiet in front of her. His face is blank, and his eyes. She’s been used to that mask of his, when indifference is a wall that shuts out vulnerability, but this is different. There’s no questions or accusations or anger or sadness or anything in his gaze. He just stares at her, expressionless.

It’s unnerving. She grips her fingers tightly to keep them from shaking.

He always said he knew her better than anyone, so he has to know she didn’t mean what she said, not the way it sounded. He has to know what he means to her, right?

There’s utter silence in the house, and Rory feels fear squeeze tighter inside of her. The urge to speak, to make things right forces her mouth to open, but before she gets a word out, Jess blinks and looks away.

“I get it,” he says quietly. There’s no tone in his voice.

She can’t help the relief she feels flooding her body; it’s like standing under a waterfall of cool water. “You do?”

He nods, finds a spot on the floor to focus his eyes on. “You don’t want her growing up like we did.”

There’s a new warmth blooming in her chest despite her urge to cry. He still gets her, still gets her in ways that she can’t even put words to. Her eyes burn and she can’t stop the tears that slide down her cheeks.

“She deserves to have what we didn’t get. And with Logan here now, I have to give it to her.”

“I never tried to keep her from Logan.” He sounds so small.

“I know,” she says earnestly, because she does. “I know you haven’t. And I’m not blaming you. I just…” she breaks off, unsure of how to continue. She forces the words out anyways, her voice softer and rougher at the same time.

“Logan feels like he can’t have a relationship with her when you’re here, not when she looks at you like…”

She can’t finish with her voice, but her mind finishes the thought anyways. _like you’re the brightest star in her universe._ Even in his disaffected youth, when he snapped at anyone within a two-foot radius, when he stilted conversations with one word, he still shone brighter than Stars Hollow. She knew that better than anyone when she was 17 and couldn’t help the pull of gravity while in his orbit, getting swept up in his gaze, his wit, his mysteriousness. And now that he’s shed the attitude and biting snark, the immaturity and self-doubt, he’s brighter than he’s ever been, even when he’s standing silent in front of her.

The truth is in front of her, in her mouth at the back of her throat, _as her wallpaper on her phone_ , but she can’t speak it.

_I don’t know how to balance the two. How to let her have a relationship with him, when all I want is that with you. And that seems selfish, to have the family with you when he’s her father._

She looks away as he speaks up again in a strange, stilted tone.

“What do you want me to do?”

She’s glad she can’t see his face as she responds. She doesn’t think she can handle looking at him as she speaks. “Give us some space,” she chokes out as a fresh round of tears fall. “Maybe… maybe not come around for a little while. At least until they’ve had a chance to really bond.”

At first, she hopes he’ll fight her, use some kind of verbal resistance to her plea, but there’s nothing, nothing but him turning and grabbing his bag from the couch. And maybe because the situation’s similar, but all of a sudden, she’s back at Yale, in her mostly packed dorm room yelling no, and watching him deflate and walk away.

She looks at his back, so much broader and built than before, and the urge to stop him comes, the way she thinks she should have stopped him back then.

“Jess,” she calls.

He looks back at her, and her words die in her throat. Because this look is familiar. She saw it that night at Yale, covered in desperation. She saw it the night of Kyle’s party, shrouded in anger. She saw it again the night she came to Truncheon cloaked in self-deprecation. But this is pure. And before today, she would have guessed it to be heartbreak.

It’s not heartbreak.

It’s defeat.

As if he knows that she hasn’t been – and will never be – his.

Her mouth itches to say something, her mind’s screaming at her to take back everything she just said, but he walks out, shutting the door softly behind him. And for the first time in her life -- not at eighteen when she’s talking into a phone at graduation, or nineteen when she’s breaking both of their hearts with a single word, or twenty-one when she’s adrift and vindictive -- she feels like she’s really, _truly,_ lost him.

She waits until she hears his car pull out of the driveway before she lets the sobs escape.

_From ashes I came_

_To ashes, I’ll return._

_But tonight I’m content_

_To sit here and burn._

_~ C.b. Roberts_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention this is part one?
> 
> This is part one. Please don't hate me. There is a happy ending, I promise.
> 
> Sorry about the length. I even cut scenes out/down and it still ended this large. 
> 
> Also, Donovan Hugh and Damien Keller are not real authors (at least that I know of), so please don't try checking for books by them cause you probably won't find any.
> 
> I'll try to have part two up within the next couple of weeks. Check my profile or Tumblr for updates.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment (or kudo/bookmark) and let me know how you liked it :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s still ringing, with the echoes of her lips against his, of her and Emmy against his chest, of the single moments of perfection he has yet to find anywhere else. Too bad perfection is fleeting fickle mistress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's here! So sorry for the wait. But for your patience, here's a chapter even longer than the first one.
> 
> Also, please note this is now Part 2/3. And it's all pure angst.

_I say goodbye to hope_

_but I also say goodbye_

_to hope’s disappointment_

_~ David Levithan_

* * *

The interstate is dark in the pitch of night, an open sea that stretches out into nothing. Headlights pass and illuminate for seconds before the road is enveloped into black again.

He pays no attention to the evergreens he passes or the tall maples bleeding red and yellow as leaves cascade down in the wind. He ignores the salty ocean breeze as he speeds by the gentle midnight tide.

He just drives. And drives. Follows waves of cement and asphalt in steady silence as I-95 carries him along the route back home.

Back to Truncheon.

Back to an empty room.

An empty bed.

Perhaps that’s fitting, since right now he feels empty.

No, numb.

Actually, gutted is probably more appropriate.

_“I don’t want a Luke!”_

Jess knows he’s not Luke, knows that despite their similarities, he’s got baggage that Luke will never carry because he doesn’t know the predatory streets of Manhattan night, where gangs and thieves (or worse) wait in the shadows for easy prey. Luke doesn’t know the way a knife pierces skin in the side, how easily it glides to the ribs, rendering the body useless to fight back. Luke doesn’t know the stench of bleach, acetone, and ammonia as it fills a tiny studio apartment while his mother slowly inhales the fumes as she stirs a pot on the stove.

No, Luke is clean in the areas he’s tainted, strong in the areas he’s weak, and since he was 19, fresh off a failed reunion with Jimmy and a repaired one with Luke, Jess has looked at his uncle as a sort of role model, someone with a life he would be lucky to have, especially once he started dating Lorelai. And since then, Jess had worked hard at changing and emulating some of his uncle’s finer qualities, perhaps somehow holding onto hope that maybe one day, Rory would come back to him like Lorelai had with his uncle.

_“I don’t want a Luke!”_

But there it is. All laid out in front of him. No misinterpretations or misunderstandings or miscommunications. Just a simple truth with a simple realization. He’s not Luke and Rory’s not Lorelai. So why continue to hope for the same kind of ending as the happy couple?

He shakes the thoughts from his head and refocuses on the road, gripping the steering wheel to gain back some semblance of control. But the road, a once familiar friend that spoke promises of freedom, feels like shackles on his wrists and ankles, keeping him rooted despite moving forward in the car.

He swallows a lump in his throat and pushes the pedal further down.

He makes it back to Philly eventually, walks up steps into a dark and empty store. Climbs up more steps into a quiet apartment. He tosses his bag into the corner, leaves his keys in the bowl on the counter next to a loose pile of papers. In the silence, his head pounds with her words.

_“Maybe not come around for awhile…”_

He leans his head against the wall, the coolness barely offering relief. His tongue is heavy in his mouth, dry and anchored to her memory.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? He’s used her as a tether since they were kids, convinced that there’s no other woman for him. But she gave her answer even back then.

_“Only say no if you really don’t want to be with me.”_

_“No!”_

A simple truth with a simple realization.

An answer that’s remained unchanged for twenty years; small blossoms of hope quickly squashed while phantom kisses linger on his lips for months.

He’s known. He’s always known. Hell, even F. Scott Fitzgerald knew, and he never met the man.

Repeat after him: there’s never the same love twice.

Despite everything they’ve gone through, Jess has never looked at his love for Rory as a curse. Even in their worst moments, when he was crushed under the weight of her rejection, the memory of her love was always a light, a hope to work towards, if only he could continue to change, continue to be a better man. Even in the years when he felt he could never have her again, he at least thought he could prove that she was right about him.

Now though, his love seems like a persimmon reversed, growing from the sweet ripeness of youth into lip-curling bitterness of melancholy and regret.

He knew, and still he keeps falling for her.

He’s a fool.

Well, at least he’s in good company. He tips his head at his copy of _The Beautiful and the Damned_ on the kitchen counter before deciding on a course of action. First things first, he needs a drink.

He searches through the back of his cabinet for the whiskey and finds the half-empty bottle he normally keeps on hand whenever he’s hit with writer’s block. He grabs it along with a small glass and quickly fills the glass to the brim – no need for a neat – and swills it back. The whiskey burns on his tongue, down his throat, but he welcomes it. After all, everything burns right now.

He follows Fitzgerald’s advice and takes another drink. And another. And another. He drinks until he’s spinning and floating and numb. He drinks until the pounding in his head goes away, until her sweet words and memories drain into nothingness. He drinks until he can’t remember anything, not her or her lips, or his lips, or hands or steps or how he even got into his room.

He lets the whiskey take him captive and falls onto his bed, his face smushing into the pillows like a dropped anchor in sand, and just before his breaths become weighted in deep sleep, he vaguely wonders to himself why he only feels whole around her when she’s the one that keeps breaking him into pieces.

*****

When he wakes up, it’s to the afternoon sun with orange laser beams aimed right at his eyes, and the residue of an alcoholic baseline thumping to Rancid splitting his head open. He groans and rolls over, trying to smother out the light and the pounding with his pillow and covers, but soon the haziness of sleep fades and the memories of the last few months, of yesterday, come rushing in like a crashing ocean tide.

_“It’s never too late.”_

_“But first, perhaps a test run… to see if we like it.”_

_“I think maybe we’ve gotten a little too comfortable with each other… I think we should stop.”_

_“I changed my mind.”_

_“I don’t want a Luke!”_

_“Maybe not come around for awhile.”_

It hurts.

This isn’t the first time he’s been hurt by Rory, and he got in some good hits at the beginning, but now he feels like he’s suffocating, to come so close to his dream and watch it slip through his fingers.

And what hurts the worst is that he really should have known better. After all, this has become a kind of pattern for them, hasn’t it? Every time he feels the start of something in his relationship with Rory, she quickly hits the brakes and reverses course, leaving him in the lurch like a stalled engine every single time.

First when they were teens and she seemingly couldn’t make up her mind whether she wanted to be with him or Dean. Though in her defense, he hadn’t done a very good job convincing her to trust him.

Then when they were a little older, and he had poured his heart out for the first time, thanks to a little advice from a little book (thanks Uncle Luke), she wasted no time completely turning him down.

And even later, when he had grown a bit wiser, and waited for her to come to him, he was left with the ache of her kiss as she went back to the guy she loved.

The guy that cheated on her.

The guy that knocked her up and married someone else.

The guy that abandoned her and Emmy.

And even now, she still chooses him.

He replays yesterday over and over in his mind until his eyes burn, his chest aches, and his fingers itch to… what? To punch? To scratch? To gouge out the memories from his mind?

He’s always been a fool when it comes to Rory, so many times now, that she knows which string to pluck to make him ring.

He’s still ringing, with the echoes of her lips against his, of her and Emmy against his chest, of the single moments of perfection he has yet to find anywhere else. Too bad perfection is a fleeting fickle mistress.

He’s read somewhere once that often times babies who weren’t nursed by their mothers grew up with some kind of strange obsessiveness with the mouth. They’re always putting things inside of theirs as if to sate the yearning of a mother’s breast.

He always considered himself lucky he didn’t get that particular trait.

But after meeting Rory, his whole viewpoint changed, and he thought that stupid book was right. Only instead of an oral fixation he’s got a Rory fixation. Because it was never the nursing he craved. It was the love.

The love that’s turning to ash in his mouth. He reaches for the bottle of last night, bringing it to his mouth before he realizes the emptiness.

He curses. Loudly. And again, his fingers itch.

Groaning, he rolls over and out of bed, stumbling from his room to the kitchen, searching through the cupboards for another bottle of whiskey. His head aches and his stomach gurgles, perhaps in warning, but he ignores it. He continues searching, a bit more in desperation now because Rory’s voice is getting clearer In his head, but his hands come up bare.

He growls and bangs his head against the cabinet door. Unbelievable. But he supposes this is what happens when you undergo reformation. Less breakdowns mean less alcohol supply. He quickly scans the rest of the kitchen, looking through drawers and lower cabinets before switching to the refrigerator. He opens the door and there’s nothing but a half-case of beer, from the looks of it it’s Matt’s, and he hesitates for a second before grabbing the last three bottles. He’ll pay him back later. Any alcohol’s good alcohol at this point.

He grabs a bottle opener, flips the cap off and quickly brings the bottle to his lips, taking a long swig. But even clutched around a cold bottle, his fingers still itch.

He pauses, and his eyes flicker over to the living room. It’s taken years to really understand himself, but now he has enough semblance of self to know what he needs. His eyes spot the leather notebook and pen on the edge of the coffee table in front of the sofa.

He looks back to the bottle in his hand. He doesn’t want to. All he wants is to drown out the last day, the last month, the last several years, and erase her fingerprints from his life. But since when did need have anything to do with want? 

Hemingway said you need to bleed in order to write, and what better time than now? So he takes another swig before setting down the bottle and picking up his notebook instead. He sits, takes a deep breath, and releases the memories, allowing his blood to turn to inked words on the lined paper.

*****

It’s not working.

His hands fly across the page, putting down word after word, but the usual relief he gets from writing is missing. He writes harder, faster, hoping it’s just a case of getting it all out as soon as he can, but by nightfall, when Rory’s touch is crawling up his chest, he realizes the writing has failed him.

He throws the notebook against the wall and switches tactics. He grabs his keys and leaves, walks to the corner store for three fifths of whiskey and two cases of beer. He hesitates for a few minutes, but eventually he pays for a full carton of Marlboros. He hasn’t bought a pack of cigarettes in over fifteen years, let alone a full carton, but, he figures this is extenuating circumstances. He needs something to burn away the feel of her mouth from his.

He’s quick to pay and quick to leave, his feet barely making contact with the ground as he heads back to Truncheon. He’s back in seconds, trudging up the steps to the apartment and barging through the door.

Matt and Chris, who apparently just got back judging from the jackets strewn across the couch, flinch at the noise.

Matt spots the haul in Jess’ arms and lights up. “Yo! We having a party?!” he exclaims, jumping up from the couch.

Jess swiftly ignores him, brushing past into his room, closing the door with a heavy slam. He drops everything on the desk with a loud clatter, grabs one of the cases of beer, and yanks his bedroom door back open.

Matt is in the doorway and startles, his eyes wide and his hand limp in the air. Jess wordlessly thrusts the case of beer in his hands before slamming the door shut again. He locks the door knob and walks over to one of his bookcases, quickly scanning cd titles before grabbing _American Psycho_ from his stash. He puts it on, skips past the organ opening of Abominable Dr. Phibes straight to the heavy guitars and hi-hats of the title track. His head bobs to the music as he rips open the carton of cigarettes. He slaps a pack against his hand before he opens it and pulls out a fresh cigarette, lighting it with an old lighter he found at the back of his closet.

The first hit makes his throat itch, and he spends a few seconds coughing, trying to get his bearings. He takes another and it’s smoother, but still far from perfect. Eventually though, his body remembers how to inhale and allow the nicotine to take over, lulling him into a relaxed state. He adds whiskey to the smoke and falls on the bed. By the time the disc gets to “Blacklight,” Jess is fully decompressed, his mind a simple blank slate.

Vaguely, he hears knocking on his door, soft yet consistent, but he just reaches over and rotates the knob on the stereo until the disorganized cacophony drowns everything out. 

*****

A month passes and bad habits become like old familiar friends, but Jess finds himself not really caring. He’s better than he used to be, he reckons. Still able to show up to work, albeit a little less functionally than he’s used to, but he gets his work done. He just might smell a bit more like an astray these days.

Matt and Chris eye him carefully in the beginning, even try talking to him about it. But after Matt gets smart and finds himself knocked out on the living room floor, both he and Chris avoid the subject of Rory like a plague. Instead, they keep their conversations work related, especially when they feel like he’s been slipping.

And maybe he has. Just a little bit. But he supposes that’s what happens when you ingest whiskey like a food group.

When he’s not drinking at home, he’s drinking at bars, finding comfort in stools and bottoms of glasses. He’s tried with women. Really he has, but thinking of women just inevitably leads him back to Rory because even after everything, his brain keeps reminding him unhelpfully that she’s _the_ woman, so sex as a distraction ends up being no distraction at all.

Instead, he focuses on his edits, particularly Keller’s whose prose he easily gets lost in. The short and terse sentences interspersed with poignant descriptions of complicated familial relationships, the way he describes abusive fights between a father and son have Jess clinging as if the words were his own. And he might as well, since his own writing has gone to shit.

It’s not that he can’t write. He has, multiple pages actually. But everything that’s coming out feels like it’s been recycled, just a rehash of something he’s already written.

Maybe someone could say he was running away, throwing himself into Keller’s book and budgets and inventory like they’re lifelines he can cling to while he’s treading water. And maybe that someone would be right. Because if he’s not focusing on the books in front of him, he finds himself back in that living room, getting his heart ripped from his chest with a few choice words.

But at least he has this, he thinks, getting back to the manuscript. And whiskey. Reading and whiskey. Hemingway would be proud of that combination.

*****

Another month passes, and Jess finishes the first edit of Keller’s manuscript, tentatively titled _Hardened as Glass_. He thinks it’s the fastest he’s ever completed a first pass, and a part of him is in awe of the young author at the speed of his writing. But Jess reckons that’s because Keller really does seem a lot like Jess with the ability to completely submerse himself in his writing. _Clairvoyant Rory for the win_ Jess thinks during their first meeting when Keller shows up with three moleskin journals instead of his laptop. Both steady and quiet, both of seemingly introverted and hard-working dispositions. In only a few short visits, they’re done with the first draft, and now Keller has the next two months to rework scenes and polish it for publication.

In hindsight, Jess should have tried to slow things down, because now he finds himself slipping even more. He tries to focus on other works, hoping to find that next diamond in the rough, but everything pales in comparison to Keller’s style; he finds himself incredibly short-tempered with works of lesser quality than a Pushcart author. Normally, he’s not so much a snob, but he can’t lose himself in new plodding prose the same way he can in favorite classics. And right now, he needs to be able to not think, cause if he does, he’ll get overwhelmed by yearning.

He hasn’t heard from her at all. Or really anyone else from Stars Hollow. He’s ignored a few calls from Luke and Liz and some texts from Doula, partly because he doesn’t want to talk in case he’s drunk, but mostly because he doesn’t want to think of Rory anymore. And talking to people from Stars Hollow always leads him back to Rory.

(Just like everything else.)

It's been radio silence for two months, and secretly he admires her restraint. He hasn’t called her either, but it’s not from lack of want. His hands still hover over her name on his phone, conditioned to call or text her almost every day. But he stops himself when he thinks of her crestfallen face in her dining room.

_Give us some space. Maybe not come around for awhile._

Give them some space. He still has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that. Is this just a slow down? Like a caution light? Were things going too fast for her? (Frankly, that seems quite ridiculous when to him, they’ve clearly been working at a snail’s pace.) Or is this more of a pause because Logan’s back, and she doesn’t want to overcomplicate things? Or, _because_ he’s back, did she completely change her mind? He dreads the last one, but honestly, it feels the most plausible. After all, he’s lived a lifetime of Rory picking Logan over him.

_I can’t help it. I’m in love with him._

He rubs his face in frustration. What happened to not thinking?

He knows Rory struggles with leaving her comfort zone, remembers how long it took for her to admit that she was falling for him while still with Dean. But he followed her lead this time. Only came over at her invitation. Kissed her when she kissed him first. Spent the night because she asked him to.

_Give us some space._

What is he supposed to do with that?

He unscrews a lid and brings a fifth to his lips. He spends most of his time drinking at home now. Figures it’s pointless to go to the bars when he just ends up back alone in his bed. Also, if he’s home, he can pass out safely and not actually on the street. He grimaces when he remembers that happened a couple weeks ago, and he woke up to a housewife yelling at him to get off her doorstep.

But it’s okay. He’s got this handled. As long as he keeps up with his work, he’s good. He swallows another swig. And maybe another. And another. If he finishes the bottle and misses three calls on his phone, it’s still okay because he’s got this handled.

*****

_BOOM BOOM BOOM_

Jess shoots straight up out of bed, adrenaline springing his legs to action. He stands alert, his head swiveling through the windows, looking for the nearest sign of danger.

When the street carries on as before and his pulse slows down, he realizes what he heard wasn’t gunshots but actually the door.

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Speaking of.

He glances at the clock and sees 7:45am flashing back at him.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Jess groans and flops back on his bed, not wanting to visit anyone right now. Especially since he’d only gotten three hours of sleep.

BOOM BOOM BOOM

Apparently the visitor is not getting the hint.

“Chris!” he yells, hoping his early rising roommate hears him or the sledgehammer knocking. He doesn’t hear a door open.

“Fuck!” he yells out, scrambling begrudgingly out of bed when the person at the door continues beating incessantly.

He stumbles through the hallway, stubs his toe on the corner of the wall, which _shit_ _that fucking hurts_ before he finally makes it to the door.

He opens it with the greatest amount of hostility he can muster. “What the fuck?!”

His uncle looks back at him.

He’s got to be dreaming. With the way the room suddenly spins, he’s convinced of it. Because there’s no way Luke is standing in his doorway, arms folded across his chest, wearing a frown of disappointment on his face.

“Huh. Well at least you still look like an adult.”

Shit. He’s actually here. And Jesus Christ he should not be seeing this look. He’s thirty-eight for god’s sake.

Or is he? What year is it again?

He scowls or tries to. His skull suddenly seems to want to push through his skin. “Luke, what do you want?” he groans out.

“Not feeling well, are we?” Luke’s voice booms as he stares him down. “That seems to be going around lately. First with me, worrying because I haven’t been able to get my nephew on the phone in about two months. Which is weird, when I literally talk to him every week. And then I have to hear from a crying Liz about how she hasn’t heard from you either, and we both know how well those situations go. But I think it was when I got a phone call from these roommates of yours --” he points behind Jess “--that I started to feel sick to my stomach.”

Jess turns and sees Matt and Chris leaning against the living room wall with dual looks of somberness. Jess clenches his jaw. Great. That’s just great. Of course he gets the meddling roommates. And here he thought their silence was just friends giving friends space. He sighs. Suddenly he misses New York and its “hear no evil see no evil” attitude.

Actually, hold that thought. Cause speaking of sick to the stomach…. He turns around and runs to the bathroom, just making it inside before he trips and falls and promptly throws up in the tub. Vaguely he hears Luke sigh “oh boy” behind him.

“See what we mean?” Chris’s voice is still thick with sleep.

When he has the strength to lift his head, Jess throws a fierce glare at Chris from the bathroom floor and he stares back from the living room evenly. A small voice in the back of Jess’ head takes note of his current situation, and he falters slightly, giving way to his friends’ concern.

Maybe things were a little bad this time.

He looks back into Luke’s expectant face, but he quickly averts his eyes, suddenly feeling ashamed. _He’s thirty-eight for god’s sake._

“Jess,” Luke starts, but he cuts him off.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Jess mutters.

“Well too bad cause we’re talking about it.”

“Sure hope you brought your pliers with you.”

Luke glowers over him and Jess, sitting on the ground, suddenly feels very small. He sees Luke reach a hand out, and he braces for a slap against his head. Instead, he’s suddenly hit with a spray of ice cold water. In the face.

He screams. “What the fuck?!” He uses his arms as best he can, but he pretty much ends up soaked by the time the stream stops. When he wipes the water from his eyes, he sees Luke still standing there smirking at him. He growls and lunges for Luke’s leg, the closest part he can get to right now.

Luke sidesteps him and releases the shower head. “Feel awake yet?”

“No!”

Luke chuckles. “Clean yourself up. I’ll be waiting in the living room.”

Jess grabs a towel and throws it at his uncle. It hits the closed door with a thud and falls to the floor.

*****

By the time Jess gets out of the bathroom, it’s 9am, and he’s in desperate need for some coffee. He heads to the kitchen and stops short when he sees his uncle on the couch. There’s no sign of Matt or Chris.

Luke looks up and Jess ignores him, grabbing a filter from the drawer. He scoops out some coffee, drops it into the filter, and then shoves everything into the coffee pot. While he’s waiting for the coffee to be finished, Luke speaks up.

“What happened with Rory?”

At her name, Jess freezes, because of course Luke knows. Still, he’s a bit angry at the stunt Luke pulled, so he stalls. “Nothing,” he replies, grabbing a mug from the cabinet.

“Really?”

“What do you want me to say, Luke?”

“There’s a little known concept out here in the world. You might have heard of it. It’s called the truth, and apparently if you tell it, you’re set free.”

Jess rolls his eyes. His uncle was in fine form this morning.

“Jess.”

He sets the mug down hard on the counter. “What?” he barks as he turns around.

Luke looks back patiently. “What happened?” he asks softly.

Jess sighs again and turns back to the coffee machine. “What always happens between us.”

“Gee, that’s not cryptic at all.”

“Hey!” Jess yells, pointing at Luke. “You just asked me to talk and I did. It’s not my fault if you can’t understand the answers.”

“I understand plenty.”

“Then why are we still talking?”

“Cause I want to hear it from you.”

“Well, congratulations. You heard it. You’re free to go.” Jess gestures to the door as he grabs his coffee and stalks off to his room.

His coffee is warm and strong, just like he usually likes it, but thanks to Luke’s surprise visit, he feels even more on edge. He rummages around his bed for some whiskey, but all he has are empty bottles.

He stomps back to the kitchen to grab the fifth he’d bought a couple days ago. Luke is still sitting on the couch.

Jess frowns. “You’re not leaving?”

“Nope.” Stubborn. That’s one word for his uncle.

“Luke--” Jess starts as he opens the cabinet door.

Luke cuts him off. “You’re family. You help your family.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jess narrows his eyes at his empty cabinet. He looks at the cabinet, to his uncle, and then back again. Feeling suspicious, he opens the fridge where he had left an unopened case of beer. That’s gone too.

He huffs in frustration. So not just a visit but an intervention. Grrrrrreat.

“You’re seriously just gonna sit there?” Jess snaps.

“Until you’re ready to talk.”

Jess wordlessly stomps back to his room.

*****

The sun sets and by now Jess has a pounding headache that’s only fueling his irritability. His wallet’s gone. So are his keys. And his cigarettes. Courtesy of either his uncle or roommates. Most likely both. It’s the first time he’s truly been alone with his thoughts in months, and he’s itching for something to take the edge off.

He tries the usual: the writing, the editing, the loud music, the reading. He cracks open Slaughterhouse-Five in a desperate attempt to keep her at bay. _People aren’t supposed to look back._ But all his staples today are insufficient, unable to block out the memories, and before he knows it, Rory fills his mind, her arms across his chest, her breath against his neck, her smile ensnaring his soul.

_It was very exciting for her, taking his dignity away in the name of love._

He slams the book shut and throws it across the room.

His foot bounces furiously against the floor. There’s really only one recourse now, and he was currently still sitting on the couch.

He opens the door and walks out petulantly to the living room. His uncle, quite predictably, is sitting in front of the tv with a case of beer (looking suspiciously like the one Jess is missing) next to him. Okay then.

Jess sits down without a word next to Luke and reaches for a bottle, but Luke moves the case to his other side.

“Nope.”

Jess stares. “You’re kidding. I bought it.”

Luke shrugs. “it’s mine now.”

“Go buy your own,” Jess growls while reaching across to swipe one. He misses as Luke pulls the case out of his reach.

“Don’t need to. Got some right here.”

Jess pulls back in incredulity. “Let me get this straight,” he starts slowly. “You drove four hours just to sit around all day and drink your nephew’s beer?”

Luke brings the bottle to his mouth and gulps. “Yup,” he says after he swallows, popping the “p”.

“That’s pathetic. Even for you.”

“At least I don’t have a drinking problem.”

“Hey, I don’t have a --”

Luke pointedly looks at his hand.

Jess glances down and it’s trembling.

Fuck.

He bites his lip and turns away, clenching his hands into fists.

Luke turns back to the tv and takes another swig of beer.

After a few minutes of aggravating silence, Jess finally speaks up. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

Luke mutes the tv and turns to him. “What was that?”

Jess sighs and repeats himself. “I said I don’t know.”

Luke stares at him with wide eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say those words before.”

“Luke.”

“I should have brought a camcorder.”

“Very funny.”

“Wait, these smartphones have them now, right?” He digs into his pocket and brings out his cellphone.

Jess tries to snatch it out of his hand. “Luke, if you try to record this conversation, I will seriously kill you,” He misses again and swears inwardly. He’s obviously lost his touch.

Luke chuckles but slides the cellphone back into his pocket. “Alright alright. Geez.”

“Asshole,” Jess mutters.

“So,” Luke starts, setting the beer down by his feet. “What don’t you know?”

Jess just shakes his head. “One minute things are great..”

“Obviously.”

He frowns at Luke.

“Jess, you were having sleepovers. Or whatever you kids call it these days. Of course things were good.”

 _Domestic_ , Jess thinks as he remembers the breakfasts with Rory and Emmy.

“And then what happened?” Luke prompts.

Jess shrugs. “Logan comes back and suddenly she’s saying she….” he trails off.

“What? What did she say?”

_I don’t want a Luke!_

He can’t tell Luke that. Not after everything he had done for her. If he told Luke what Rory said, it would hurt him. So he clamps his mouth shut and turns away. “Nothing. She said nothing.”

“Jess.”

“Luke, let it go,” he pleads.

“I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, you can. It’s real simple. You just stop asking questions.”

“Again, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” he shoots back.

“Because you’re family.”

Jess groans. “God, I should have gotten emancipated.”

“Too late. You’re stuck with me now.”

They sit in silence for a couple minutes. Jess fiddles with his hands, trying to stop the trembling on his own. Luke just sits beside him. Finally though, his patience wanes and he turns to Jess.

“What did she say?”

“She….” Jess breaks off at the pain of the memory. This is why he doesn’t talk about shit. It’s bad enough living through it the first time. He clears his throat and tries again. “She said she doesn’t want me around anymore.” His voice comes out wobbly.

Luke blinks at him. “What?” he finally asks.

Jess turns his head and stares at the wall.

“You’re kidding.” He can hear the clear disbelief in Luke’s voice. “She did not say that.”

Jess scoffs. “Of course not. Cause Rory Gilmore is perfect and never says or does anything wrong.”

“Why would she say that?” An excellent question, Luke. If only he had the answer, then maybe he wouldn’t be like this right now.

Jess just shrugs again for an answer.

Luke’s quiet for a moment as he contemplates. “Logan?” he asks.

“A good a guess as any.”

“But you’re family,” Luke stresses.

“Apparently she’s got a different definition than you do.”

“I don’t believe that.”

Yeah, Jess doesn’t believe it either.

“There’s no way she would say that willingly.”

Jess barks out a laugh. “Does that sound like a Gilmore to you?”

“Okay smartass. I just meant she couldn’t have come up with that herself. Logan must have said something.”

“Obviously.”

“But why is she going along with it?”

Jess throws Luke an incredulous look. “Seriously?” Has he not been paying attention to Logan’s influence in Rory’s life?

“Okay, so she might not make the best decisions when Logan’s involved…” Luke drawls.

“No kidding.”

“But I can’t imagine she would just completely cut you out. She loves you. Emmy loves you. Everyone can see that.”

Jess flinches at the word “love.”

Luke gazes steady at him. “Have you tried talking to her?”

“No.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Well, it’s nice to see you stay consistent.”

Jess smirks a little. “I guess I take after my uncle.”

“Really?” Luke deadpans. “Cause it seems like you’re doing your best to take after your mom.”

That shuts him up. Jess stares and swallows the stab of guilt that burns his tongue. He looks away. “Touché,” he whispers.

Suddenly Luke leans forward and holds his gaze, intense. “It’s just the alcohol, right?” he asks seriously.

Jess swallows again. “And some smokes.”

“But that’s it?” Luke presses, insistent.

Jess nods quietly. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Luke breathes out slowly and leans back. “Okay.”

They sit in contemplative silence. Luke nurses the rest of his bottle while Jess continues to fidget with his hands, unnerved by Luke’s questioning.

He knew Luke helped out with Liz when he was younger, remembers vaguely the few times he came to New York to help with moves and money and such. But he always felt like Luke had given up too easily, abandoning him to the destructive mood swings and cycles of an addict for a mom. He always figured he, and he alone, had been broken by Liz’s failures and disappointments. Sure Luke may have been disappointed from time to time, but he didn’t live with it the way Jess did.

But now…

He glances at his uncle out of the corner of his eye, thinks to this morning when Luke’s first act was submerging him in cold water, a known tactic when dealing with those under the influence.

Maybe he wasn’t the only one scarred by Liz’s addictions.

As if he was reading his mind, Luke suddenly speaks up. “Don’t take after her mistakes,” he says, placing the empty beer bottle on the table. He looks him in the eye again. “You’re the best of us nephew. You’ve worked too hard to self-destruct now.”

Too sincere. “Any other advice, Dr. Phil?” Jess quips as he looks away. He feels unworthy of the praise at the moment.

“Pick up your phone every now and then so I don’t have to drive all the way out here. You know how much I hate the traffic.” Luke stretches and stands up.

Jess huffs a laugh. “Sure thing, Uncle Luke.”

“And you know,” Luke starts, gesturing to him with his hands. “You’re always welcome to come back. There’s more in Stars Hollow than just Rory. Like your sister.”

The smile melts off Jess’ face. “You talk to her?” he asks apprehensively. Knowing Doula, she’s probably pissed at the way he’s ignored her texts the last couple of months. And now that she’s a teenager, that’ll mean _months_ of the silent treatment. He’ll have to do something special to get back on her good side.

Luke’s lip twitches, and he reaches out, places a hand on Jess’ shoulder. “Talk to her, Jess,” he says gently. “Work it out. You’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it if you don’t.”

Jess can only nod as Luke gives a half-grin and walks towards the front door. Before he shuts the door, he calls out to him. “Tweedledumb and dee have your keys and wallet with them downstairs.”

Jess rolls his eyes and shakes his head. Of course _._

*****

She feels like she’s eighteen again, fresh out of high school and on her way to Yale, to her bright future, weighed down by yearning so deep, she has no idea how to root it out of her heart. She remembers the summer days in Luxembourg and Paris, traipsing through cities with cobbled sidewalks and vintage shops and busy streets, her mother by her side chattering away while her words flew away in the wind. She remembered summer nights muffling whimpers with pillows as yearning ravaged her as such that even Belgium waffles and chocolate couldn’t eat it away.

Back then she had anger to fall back on. She could lean on bitterness at that way Jess up and left, making her feel like she was played like a fiddle by his dexterous hands. And mouth. And eyes. And wit. And passion. And…

She stops because thinking about then only adds to the pain of now, and this time, she can’t do that. Because this time he only left because she asked him to.

She had asked for this.

She tries to do what she did before, throw herself into her work, her family, but everything is disjointed. Writing _Gilmore Girls_ the sequel only makes her remember how writing the first one went, and if she thinks of Jess, she’s liable to curl up on the floor and never get up again.

So she makes Emmy her main priority, or rather keeps her there, as she checks and sees that she’s well with Logan’s sudden appearance.

It certainly seems like it. In no time at all father and daughter are as thick as thieves, and Rory hates that she feels sick to her stomach by it.

The picture still looks wrong no matter how long she looks at it.

But there’s nothing she can do about it now, not while Logan is here. She just has to take it day by day. For a few months. That’s it. Then everything can go back to normal.

*****

Everything does not go back to normal.

There’s a new routine to get used to, of arranging times for pick-ups and drop-offs, of sharing dinners she otherwise would be spending with someone else. It takes about a month, but eventually she gets used to it. Used to seeing Logan a weeknight or two and on the weekends. She gets used to seeing Emmy light up when she sees her dad, the way she runs to his arms.

But it’s not normal.

Because normally, she wouldn’t be reaching for her phone and staring at Jess’ name in her contacts only to turn away.

Normally she wouldn’t be struggling to sleep, missing the steadiness of his chest and the strength of his arms around her.

Normally she would happy, not feigning smiles to the people around her, especially her daughter.

But it’s hard to feel happy about things nowadays when it feels like she just ripped half of herself away from her body.

She thinks back to senior year, to the absolute combustion of their teenaged relationship that culminated in Jess leaving Stars Hollow for good. She thinks of the silent phone calls, only hearing his breath on the line.

This must have been how he felt. He never was a wordsmith, not with the verbal word like she was, but now she knows how much he must have struggled. For all the words that she has inside her head, she can’t find a single one to share with him right now.

Cause when you love someone, and you cause them pain, what can you say that makes everything okay?

At eighteen, Jess knew the answer she’s only learning now.

*****

One month slowly becomes two and her smart inquisitive daughter has also noticed that things are not normal.

“Where’s Uncle Jess?”

Logan’s tying up her shoes while Rory grabs her weekend bag, and both freeze at the question.

She feels Logan’s gaze on the side of her head.

“Um… he’s at his home in Philly,” she says, which knowing Jess is probably true, not that she knows for sure. She hasn’t spoken to him in two months. She grabs a couple Nancy Drew books off the bookshelf and stuffs them in the bag.

“I thought he was staying with us on the weekends.” Of course Emmy remembers that particular detail.

It’s still mostly warm outside, the fall not quite yet winter, but inside her house, the temperature has dropped considerably.

“Yeah… he’s busy with work,” Rory says, avoiding Logan’s gaze and trying desperately to come up with an excuse. Her brain thankfully supplies her one at the last minute. “He’s editing a very important author’s book right now. He can’t come down as much at the moment.”

“Can we go see him?”

Again, she freezes because how is she supposed to answer that? In front of Logan no less. And she can feel him staring again, waiting for her answer. “Um… we’ll see,” she says noncommittally. She finishes packing the bag and walks back into the living room.

“Sounds like someone’s trying to get rid of me,” Logan says as he taps Emmy on the nose.

“Who?” Emmy says, scrunching up her face.

“You, pumpkin.”

“Why? Would you not come with us?”

Rory bites her lip and turns her face to hide her smile when Logan’s face puckers up as if he ate a lemon. Her daughter is seriously cute.

“I don’t think Uncle Jess would like that very much,” Logan mumbles.

Logan showing up at Truncheon? No, he definitely wouldn’t.

“Why?”

“We prefer to keep our distance from each other.” Logan, ever the master of diplomacy. He pats her shoes when he’s done with the laces.

“Why?” Emmy asks as she jumps down from the chair.

“Because we work better that way.”

“Why?”

“Okay. Enough questions,” he says, picking her up in his arms. “How about some ice cream?”

“Ice cream!!!”

“How does a hot fudge sundae sound to you?”

Emmy furrows her brows immediately “No.”

Logan stops and stares at the pint sized blonde in his arms. “What? Who doesn’t like a hot fudge sundae?”

“Me!” Emmy says indignantly. “I like hot fudge. And ice cream. But they don’t go together.”

Logan’s looking comically confused. “Says who?”

“Me. You can’t eat a sundae in a cone. It’s too messy. Right, Mommy?”

“Right.” Maybe it’s wrong, but Rory relishes the absolute bewilderment on Logan’s face.

“That’s why you don’t eat it in a cone,” he says slowly.

“No cone?!” her daughter cries. “But you have to eat ice cream in a cone!”

Logan looks to Rory, completely lost, and Rory just shrugs her shoulders. “It’s Gilmore tradition.”

She just keeps the secret of that tradition to herself.

As Logan shakes his head and leads Emmy out the door, Rory feels the smallest flicker of hope that things will eventually go back the way they were. After all, even though he’s physically absent, Jess still has his influence written all over their lives.

*****

A couple more weeks pass and Rory’s finding it harder and harder to smile. Her chest burns more with each passing day she doesn’t see him, and by now the absence is starting to become noticeable. Lane casually mentions Jess when she stops by for a girls’ night while Emmy is over at Logan’s. Her mom calmly asks about him when she’s over for dinner. Even Luke seems to look at her differently, a pensive frown on his face that he averts when she looks his way.

There’s a slight pulling of panic as she thinks of the possibility that maybe, just maybe, Jess had told Luke what had happened. But she bats the thought away quickly, knowing Jess wouldn’t do that. Maybe he had told Luke something, but not _that._

Still, the questions and looks don’t help and she’s running out of excuses, and Emmy won’t let the subject drop.

Almost every day, she’s asking to go see Jess. Or when Jess is coming here. She’s learned not to ask around Logan, recognizing the annoyance every time she mentions his name. But she has yet to see the affect the questions have on Rory.

Rory’s nerves are lit up like sparks, and she’s losing her usual patience, and it’s been almost three months, so when Emmy inevitably asks again today, Rory snaps just a little bit.

“I don’t know! Okay? Stop asking me!” And she regrets the words as soon as they leave her mouth.

Emmy looks at her numbly, her blue eyes at the edge of tears. “Is it cause Daddy’s here?” she asks, her voice wobbly.

Rory shuts her eyes in pain because a five-year-old should not understand the situation as well as she does and somehow, that has to be her fault.

Immediately, Rory goes over and pulls Emmy into a hug. “It’s complicated, babe. There’s a lot of factors. Right now’s just not a good time.”

“Then when is?” Emmy’s voice is muffled against her chest.

Rory can only shrug helplessly in response.

“I miss him, Mommy.”

Rory shuts her eyes as tears threaten to fall. “Me too, babe,” she whispers against her hair. “Me too.”

*****

After Luke’s visit, he cleans himself and gets back to work. Matt and Chris are cautious around him for a few days, until they’re sure he won’t collapse again, but slowly things get back to the normal the three of them are used to.

He keeps the whiskey and cigarettes in the cabinet and uses work as a tether to keep himself grounded. Words slowly come back to him. He still struggles when putting ink to paper, but at least he’s back to being engrossed in new manuscripts and old favorites. And Keller’s book is still as engaging as ever, the narrative of fleeing abusive homes captivating him just as much as when he read it the first time. Some parts he flinches on, parallels to his own personal life striking a little too close, but he feels grateful that after all these years, he can still easily fall back into another world of swirling prose the way he did as a kid, feels grateful that he’s made it this far to even help a talented writer with a book like this.

Luke’s visit was a bit enlightening, not because he talked about Rory _,_ but because Luke’s comparison of him to Liz put a new perspective on things. He prided himself on not really having any kind of traits from his mother, figuring out he got most of his personality traits from either Jimmy or Luke, but apparently he got this particular weakness from her. Which of course he did. Cause when did he ever get anything good from Liz?

So now he treads a bit more carefully, staying alert to catch himself before he becomes lost in murky waves of whiskey and nicotine, trying to erase _her_ , _their,_ voices from his mind. Despite his best efforts though, he still finds himself slipping. Finds himself fishing through his pockets for a lighter or reaching for a bottleneck like muscle memory.

Luke said to talk to her, but he finds himself unable to do it. His finger hovers over his phone whenever he tries, but he’s unable to press the button. Turns out though, he doesn’t have to. She does it for him.

Almost three months have passed, and finally, he hears from her.

He’s working late at Truncheon, closing up for the sixth night in a row. Matt and Chris unapologetically scheduled him long closing shifts for a month straight, and Jess has taken his punishment without complaint. He owes them. He knows this. So he keeps a friendly face painted on whenever customers come in or he has to answer the phone. When the store finally closes, he cleans up, reshelves books, restocks ink, balances the budgets, and counts inventory.

Tonight, after the store’s closed, the phone rings, and he answers it without thinking.

“Truncheon Books.”

It’s quiet on the other end. So quiet that he almost doubts that he heard the phone ring. He pulls it away from his ear and looks at it before speaking again. “Hello?” he asks, a little louder.

It’s still quiet, but he thinks he hears the subtle sound of breathing on the other end.

And maybe it’s because he’s done this himself a time or two, or maybe it’s because of this imperceptible connection they have that apparently can’t be severed by any amount of distance, but in his bones, he knows who it is.

“Rory?” he asks slowly. He swallows his nervousness back down and waits.

It’s silent again, but if he strains his ears, he thinks he can hear the small sound of a whimper. His heart tugs and he opens his mouth without realizing. “How are you?”

Another minute passes and when he thinks of hanging up, he hears her voice for the first time in almost three months.

“Good,” she says. Simple and short. And he’s not buying it. Before he can shoot off a retort, she asks, “You?”

He pauses and ponders his answer for a moment, before repeating her answer. “Good.” It might be a bit of a stretch, but he’d rather she not know about his affair with the bottle lately. That is if Luke hasn’t somehow blabbed it to Lorelai, who’s passed it on to her.

They’re both quiet for awhile, and it’s unnerving, this silence. Which is weird, Jess thinks, because usually, their silences are companionable. But this one is filled with awkwardness, and he doesn’t like it.

“Emmy?” he tries, hoping to get a semblance of a conversation going. Otherwise it would feel a waste of a phone call.

“She’s good,” Rory replies, and Jess is afraid that’s it, that’s all that’s left of their relationship, but she speaks again. “She actually speedread through all the Nancy Drew books you got her for her birthday.”

Jess feels a grin creep onto his face. “Yeah?”

“Yup. And since she’s been begging nonstop for the rest of the series.” And now that they’re talking books, things suddenly feel like normal. “Mom tried to get her into Harriet the Spy so we wouldn’t have to buy like a hundred books, but Emmy wasn’t having it.”

“Shame. Harriet’s great.”

“Right? That’s what I said. But nope. She’s obsessed now. Even got Luke to get her a magnifying glass, and she’s been running around the house, squeezing into any small space she can find, looking for clues.”

Jess can’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips.

There’s laughter in Rory’s voice and it eases the tension in his chest. “So congrats,” she continues. “You’ve created the next Nancy Drew.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing? She’s only the best female detective ever.”

“She’s great. There’s no denying that. She’s just… a little old-fashioned.”

“Wow…. I think the younger me just died a little bit there. I’m afraid to ask what you think of Miss Marple now.”

“Too British?”

Jess full out laughs at that one.

“And also old,” she adds. “I need something a bit more contemporary these days.”

“Agatha Christie is a classic.”

“Absolutely, and you know I love the classics. But I feel like she’s losing relevancy these days.”

“Amazon Prime would disagree with you.”

He hears her gasp. “You have a Prime account? You?”

He scoffs. “No.”

“Oh. Good. I was afraid I didn’t know you anymore. Matt then?”

“The sell-out. He said he couldn’t turn down the two-day shipping anymore.”

“It is a good deal.”

“Miss Gilmore, not you too.”

“Not all the time,” she amends. “I still try to support my small businesses whenever I can. But sometimes, when you need something quickly, Amazon’s the best option.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m disappointed.”

“Well not everyone has your moral integrity.”

“Clearly. Nor my amazing taste in books.”

“Hey now.”

“You have yet to name a more contemporary character,” he reminds her.

“Shhhh… I’m still thinking.”

“Just go with Veronica Mars and call it a day.”

“Uh no. Not after season 4. And besides, she’s just a modern-day Nancy Drew. Just a little more gritty.”

He thinks for a minute. “Maisie Dobbs?”

“I actually haven’t read that series. Is it any good?”

“Yeah actually. I like the way it delves into the psychological trauma of war.”

“Ugh, you would,” she groans out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, laughing.

“Hemingway? Vonnegut? Ring any bells?”

He tips his head. “Okay, fair.” He thinks some more and then smirks. “What about Stephanie Plum?”

She sputters. “Seriously?”

“Velma Dinkley?”

“Now you’re just being rude.”

“Hey now. I could have been worse. I could have said Daphne.”

“Gross,” she whines.

“What?”

“Why do you have to be such a guy?”

“Last time I checked it’s what I was.”

“God, now I’m gonna have that cheesy movie dialogue stuck in my head.”

He smirks and opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Don’t even think about it!”

“You’re the one that made me sit through that movie _four_ times!”

“That was payback for Almost Famous!”

He chuckles and relents. “Okay, fine, but in her defense, she’s the only one that escaped _and_ she beat the bad guy at the end. I think Emmy could do worse for role models. Plus, they’re both blondes.”

She grumbles intelligibly, and he suddenly misses her terribly. Misses both of them. He wets his lips and takes a chance, tentatively asking, “Can I say hi?” It’s late, and she’s probably asleep, but still he wants to try.

“Oh,” she responds, her voice low and muted, and immediately, the positive atmosphere is broken. “Um…” she says and Jess’ heart falls because he knows what she’s going to say. “She’s not here right now…. she’s out….” She trails off.

“With Logan,” he finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

And after that, they fall completely silent, as if there’s nothing else to say. Jess waits just in case, but Rory seems as lost as he does, so finally he pulls the plug.

“I should go. Gotta finish balancing these books.”

“Yeah, okay…. I… Talk to you soon?” There’s a pleading lilt in her voice at the end there, and it squeezes Jess’ heart. Why does he keep doing this?

The “yes” is on his tongue, but he falters because he’s not sure if it’s a lie or not. And since he’s promised himself to never lie to her again, he amends his statement to “I’ll try. Bye Rory.”

He barely hears her say “Bye” before he places the phone back in the cradle and puts his face in his hands.

He feels like an old and well-used welcome mat, one that brings back good memories, but ultimately gets thrown out with the trash.

The banter is still there, an ever-present undercurrent that never fully gives way thanks to their love of books keeping them tied together. But, that was never the issue. Chemistry was never the problem.

It was always trust. She couldn’t trust him when they were younger, given his penchant for running away when things got difficult. In turn, he couldn’t trust her in her seemingly inability to choose between comfort and passion.

And even now it’s more of the same. But at the end of the day, it’s Rory’s choice, and as much as it hurts, he has to respect her wishes.

*****

Almost a week passes since the phone call, and Jess’ equilibrium is imbalanced once again.

Luke said to talk to her, and now he can say he has, but he should have hung up immediately. Or better yet, let the call go to voice mail. But she’s his own personal siren, singing softly for his death. So down to the depths he went.

He never was good at self-preservation, too ready to sacrifice himself to destruction.

No wonder he keeps losing.

Rory hasn’t tried to call back, and he’s half in relief, the other in longing. The one call was bad enough. Stilted, awkward pauses that bloom into a small kindling of hope before being suffocated with a single mention of his name. Logan.

He wants to hurl. Or throw himself off a cliff. Or throw the dick off a cliff.

He never understood their relationship. Never saw what Rory saw in him, what made her give him chance after chance when if it was anyone else, she would have sent him packing after one word. Even now, after marrying someone else and basically abandoning her and Emmy for several years, she still lets Logan back in like the past several years don’t matter.

And he on the other hand gets one chance and….

This is why he has to be careful. It’s too easy to go down this road of self-deprecation.

His phone pings with a notification, and he looks at it without even thinking.

It’s Rory. She’s posted something on Instagram.

He stares at the alert like he’s dumbstruck, like’s never seen a smartphone before until he feels his fingers swipe and open his app, his body completely on autopilot. He can feel his mind try to warn him, but like a sucker (cause no matter what he does, he’s always missing her) he quickly looks at her new posts.

They’re all pictures featuring the Dick front and center, Emmy cradled to his chest, on his back, in his arms, with Rory at his side, a soft smile on her face, the three of them looking every bit like the family that they should have been.

And now, Jess has never felt more insignificant in his life, with his choices and his concentrated efforts to become someone better for her and himself.

He should have hung up the other night. Never answered the phone. Left the second he heard she was pregnant. Never even have come to Stars Hollow.

_heshouldhaveheshouldhaveheshouldhave_

He clenches his fists tightly.

He wants to hurl. And maybe scream, and if he needs a new phone because suddenly his screen is cracked and black, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tosses the phone on his desk and turns back to Keller’s words, trying to continue his edits in the margins and put Rory far far behind him.

But like a madwoman unwilling to be ignored, she scratches at the edges of his mind as he reads and rereads sentences, begging for attention. And like always, he gives it to her.

He’s been in her life for twenty years, but even now, he still feels like the seventeen-year-old outsider that stands at the threshold of her bedroom door, waiting to be invited in.

Being an outsider is nothing new to him. He’s always felt like one, the banished black sheep that was never wanted, Luke the main exception. Even now, he still feels on the outside looking in, the older brother distant from the happy family unit, living in Philly while the rest stay in Stars Hollow.

Even going to Stars Hollow makes him feel only tolerated, never truly belonging. Unless he’s with Rory and Emmy.

And then she pulls the rug from underneath him. Again. Right when he felt he was getting some new traction in his life.

Why does he keep reading this script, especially when the ending doesn’t change?

He sets down Keller’s manuscript and slumps back with closed eyes, feeling tired all of a sudden. And really, he is.

How long is he going to keep waiting?

By this point, he’s waited even longer than Luke ever did. Anyone else would have moved on by now.

Why does he keep waiting?

It’s a question he no longer holds the answer to.

*****

Logan has Emmy for the weekend, so Rory has the entire house to herself. However, she’s finding that she’s not doing so well in the quiet these days. Quiet reminds her of Jess and his particular brand of silence.

Especially now.

He said he’d try to call, but it’s been almost two weeks and he still hasn’t. And Rory doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. Aside from the way it ended, the phone call was good, right? They got right back into the banter just like usual, like three months hadn’t just passed by without a word from one another.

So why isn’t he calling?

She’s nervous just mentioning Logan pushed him away. That maybe the absence made him forget why he had a reason to be upset, and then she just went and insinuated the name.

Is he mad at her? She doesn’t know. It didn’t seem like it on the phone. A little awkward perhaps, but she hadn’t sensed hostility from him.

Her mom comes over for marathon night and comes bearing dozens of snacks. Apparently Doose’s was having another blow-out sale and her mom bought all of the candy.

“Thank God Halloween’s over. Now we have enough to last us through Christmas.”

“That depends on how much we go through tonight.” Rory’s looking at all the Red Vines and M&Ms and Starbursts that Lorelai’s pulling out with a grimace.

Her mom smiles. “Remembering the blowout of ’97?”

Rory shudders. “I still have nightmares about the amount of candy we ate.”

“It was a personal record,” Lorelai agrees. “But at least we had enough wrappers to build you that really awesome dollhouse. Recycled materials at its finest.”

“It didn’t even last through Thanksgiving.”

“Shhhh. Nobody remembers the final details. Just the final product.”

Rory just chuckles.

“So….” Lorelai drawls out, her lips puckering. Rory stills in her sorting. “Logan’s really getting on with Emmy, huh?”

“Yeah… I mean, they’re father and daughter, daughter and father. Of course they’re getting along fine.”

“I suppose it helps when you’re not old enough to really understand the situation.”

“Emmy understands things fine,” Rory bites back. Too fine. Especially for a five-year-old.

Lorelai raises her hands in surrender. “I’m just making an observation,” she says carefully. “Am I not allowed to do that anymore?”

“I….” Rory pauses and shakes her head. “No, of course. Sorry…. I’m just a little on edge, I guess.”

“I’ve noticed. You want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Rory asks with wide eyes.

“Yeah, okay. You’re a big girl now. You don’t always have to talk to me.”

“Okay,” Rory says carefully, narrowing her eyes.

Lorelai finishes the candy and starts pulling out the Mallomars, Twinkies, and Ho Hos.

Rory watches her mom for a minute before asking. “What observation?”

“Nothing…” Lorelai shrugs. “Just… the pictures are pretty convincing, that’s all. You guys look cute.”

Rory furrows her brows. “What pictures?”

“The ones on your Instagram. You guys surprisingly look good together.”

“Oh.” She’s avoided looking at those pictures lately. The longing’s bad enough without looking at physical evidence of how good she and Jess are together, how right things feel when he’s here.

“Why is that an observation now? I posted those photos months ago.”

Lorelai stops and cocks her head. “Um, no? You posted them last week.”

Rory blinks. “I didn’t post any pictures last week,” she says shaking her head.

“Uh….” Lorelai takes out her phone and quickly brings up the photos.

It’s her, Emmy, and Logan having dinner at Luke’s.

Logan’s throwing fries into Emmy’s mouth, and she’s watching them with a fond smile.

It’s about as domestic as a picture can get.

Rory swallows in horror.

Suddenly Jess not calling makes a lot of sense.

He must have seen this.

God, he must think she’s trying to rub it in.

It doesn’t take her long to figure out that Logan must have posted these. Only he would be brazen enough to do it behind her back. The question is why. Did he think Jess would see these pictures? Is this some kind of weird territorial thing? Or some weird kind of competition? What is he trying to do? She can feel horror churning into anger and her hands twitch to grab hold of something.

“You alright there, Aristotle?” Lorelai chimes in. “Need me to leave while you continue pondering on the great mysteries of the universe?”

Rory shakes herself and takes a breath. “No. No. I’m good,” she says, grabbing a pile of snacks to take to the living room. She’s not gonna let this ruin her movie night with her mom. “Now,” she says turning back to Lorelai, “what movies did you bring?”

*****

She pushes thoughts of the photo out until Sunday when Logan drops Emmy back off. As soon as she seems him walk out of the car, her insides are toiling in irritation. He hesitates at the frown on her face, but he squeezes past her with Emmy through the front door.

Rory’s suddenly very aware of the lack of boundaries she set.

Once Emmy’s inside her room, changing into bed clothes, she pounces.

“What is this?” she demands, shoving her phone into his face.

He just looks from her to the phone and back again.

“Logan!”

“What?” he shoots back, clearly unbothered by her attitude.

She shakes the phone. “What is this?”

“A cellphone. Next?”

She rolls her eyes. “Not the phone. The pictures on the phone.“

“That’s your daughter,” he replies with slow enunciation.

“I know that. I’m asking why it’s on here.”

Logan slowly drops Emmy’s bags onto the floor. “Are you okay, Ace?” he drawls. “Do we need to see a doctor? Maybe get some type of mental examination?”

“I’m sure you and Freud would have a field day,” she snarks.

“Mommy?” Rory whirls around and sees Emmy peeking through her door. She’s looking at her like she has three heads. “Can I not get pictures taken anymore?”

Okay, maybe ambushing him at the door was a bad idea.

She wilts and sighs, feeling foolish for getting upset all of a sudden. She shakes her head and goes over to Emmy to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Of course you can, sweets. There’s no such thing as too many pictures of you.”

Emmy gives her a bright smile in response and Rory regrets the yelling, just a little bit. But, she knows that she can’t let this slide, not if she wants to still keep some boundaries in place.

She runs her fingers down her daughter’s hair before speaking. “Emmy, why don’t you close the door and read whatever new book Daddy got you, huh? Mommy and Daddy have to talk.”

Emmy casts furtive glances between the two adults before she nods. “Okay.” She shuts the door softly.

When she turns around, Logan’s frowning hard at her. She braces for the fight.

“What the hell’s the problem?” Logan asks, a hard edge in his voice.

She lifts her phone again. “I didn’t post these.”

“So?”

She raises her eyebrows, affronted. _So?_ “Logan, this is my account. With my pictures. That I post myself on here.”

“And?”

“And you posted these on my account without my permission!”

“I didn’t think I needed your permission!”

“You didn’t---” she cuts herself off, trying to stave off what feels like a huge blowout. She takes a breath and tries again. “Why would you think that? And how did you even get my password?”

“I guessed it. It didn’t take much to figure out. I mean ‘elg2017’ isn’t exactly the hardest password out there.”

“Huh. I’m surprised you remember what year she was born. It’s not like you were there for the actual birthing.”

Logan’s face darkens, and she immediately changes the subject back to the original conversation. “But we’re not talking about that. Why would you think it’s okay to post these on my account?”

“Because I thought you would like them!” he yells before cutting off and taking a deep breath. “Ace, I don’t see what the big deal is.” He turns and sits down on the sofa.

She follows him into the living room. “The deal, Logan, is that you posted these to my account and didn’t even ask me if it was okay. Not to mention, you have your own account. Why did you not post them there?”

“I did post them there.”

Rory scoffs in disbelief.

Logan continues. “I just thought you would want them on your account too. What mom wouldn’t want pictures of her child?”

And there he goes, trying to turn this back on her. She’s not going to let him this time.

“Of course I want pictures of Emmy. That’s not the prob--”

He cuts her off. “Are the pictures bad?”

Rory blinks. “What?”

“Is what I posted bad?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Does it reflect you or Emmy negatively in any way?”

“No, but –”

“Is it because I’m in them? Do you have a problem with me taking pictures with my daughter?”

Rory doesn’t like his tone. “Of course not! It’s not about your relationsh--”

He cuts her off again. “Do you not want them?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Logan,” she growls out. Already she feels a headache coming on. She folds her arms around her chest and sits next to him. “That’s not the point.”

He stares at her for a minute before sighing again. “Look, I’m sorry for posting them to your account. I honestly didn’t think it was that big of a deal. Certainly not enough to have a whole conversation about it.” He gestures between them until he freezes in thought. “Oh, I get it,” he mutters as he rolls his eyes.

Rory casts a sidelong glance. “What?”

“Was it your mom? It was Lorelai, right? She never really did like me.”

And now Rory’s confused. How did her mom even enter the conversation? “Logan, what you are talking about?”

“I’m saying Lorelai obviously said something to you, and now you’re flipping out about it. So come on. Spill it. What did she say?”

He’s not exactly wrong. Lorelai was the one who made her aware of the photos. But now that she’s actually thinking about the conversation, she realizes her mom didn’t really say anything on the matter. No real quips about Logan’s appearance in their lives or Jess’ coinciding absence, or how she’s been a little on edge lately, well aside from the fact that she noticed. But that wasn’t really a quip. Just stating an observation. Honestly, Lorelai didn’t really say anything at all the entire weekend and just gave Rory her space. Very unlike Lorelai, and now Rory doesn’t know how to feel about it.

She looks back to Logan, who’s looking back with one eyebrow raised expectantly. “Nothing, actually,” she replies, frowning pensively. “She just said they were cute pictures.”

Logan raises his other eyebrow in disbelief and then shakes his head and mumbles, “Then I don’t get it.”

No, Rory thinks. He wouldn’t. Because the very fact that he asked Jess to be on the sidelines these last few months is proof that he doesn’t care about his feelings. Or really her own for that matter. So of course he doesn’t care about crossing a boundary. But she’s too exhausted to continue the conversation, to explain herself. Too confused by Lorelai’s silence. She should be happy that her mom’s giving her space and not commenting. Right?

“I need a drink,” Logan pipes in, stilling her thoughts. “You want one?”

Sounds better than nothing. “Sure.”

She watches his back disappear into the kitchen and hears the cabinets being open. She doesn’t have much in the liquor department these days, but there should be some scotch and maybe some wine somewhere. She hears him continue to rummage through the shelves and she’s hit with the memory of waking up this summer, walking into the kitchen with Jess cooking on the stove, Emmy in her booster seat, happily swinging her legs.

Her heart pangs and she massages her chest, hoping to ease some of the sting. But she knows it’s hopeless. Losing Jess the first time was excruciating, and suddenly she misses Yale and the constant workload to keep her mind off of his disappearance. Back then, she didn’t have time to think about him during the day because she was too busy trying not to fail her classes. She doesn’t have the same benefit here. Writing her book just makes her think of him. Living here in this house makes her think of him. Even being with Emmy and walking around town makes her think of him.

He’s become a permanent fixture in her life, even when he’s physically not in it.

It’s not fair.

She _has_ thought about calling him again, but she stops herself because 1) he did say he would try, and she’s waiting for that to happen, but also 2) the last time ended so awkward and painful that she doesn’t dare try it again, not while Logan’s still here. But soon, she tells herself. Soon, Logan will go back to London, to Odette, and she can try to fix everything she’s broken. Cause the one bright spot in her and Jess’ phone conversation was the reassurance that they still have _it,_ whatever _it_ is.

Wait a minute. She frowns. Odette. She was so worried about how Jess would take these photos, she completely forgot about Odette. Not that she ever cared that much for her in the first place. But still, she’s Logan’s wife. And she and Logan are having problems. What could she possibly think about this situation?

Suddenly Rory feels sick to her stomach. She looks up and sees Logan walk in, two glasses in hand, and she quickly blurts out, “Odette’s not upset about this?” Surely she must have seen the pictures.

Logan missteps, his head snapping up to look at her. He stares at her before he chuckles darkly and continues walking. “No. She doesn’t care about much that I’m doing these days,” he mutters.

Rory frowns, a knot of thought forming in her mind, but being the caretaker she is and sensing the self-deprecation in his statement, she bats the knot away and allows herself to be pulled to him. “Logan,” she says, reaching to press a gentle hand on his shoulder. They might not be together anymore, but she’ll always care about him.

He brushes her off. “Here.” He hands her a glass while looking down at the floor.

Well, so much for that. She swallows and averts her eyes. “Thanks.”

“We done?” His tone is annoyed. Clipped. Shut down.

She knows that’s all she’s getting out of him tonight. “Yeah,” she accedes. “We’re done.”

“Good.” He gulps down his glass in one go and then knocks on Emmy’s door and walks inside.

Rory nurses her scotch to the sounds of Logan and Emmy’s voices drafting through the bedroom door. When she finishes her glass, it’s quiet, and she’s left with a bitter taste on her tongue.

*****

He finishes the second pass of _Hardened as Glass_ much like he did the first, devouring the prose in record time. He schedules a final meeting with Keller to go over any possible last-minute changes before they send it off for copyediting and the first printing.

Keller meets him on time as always, and the two share a small table in the back of the room. They work across from one another in familiar silence, Keller passing pages he thinks could use some tweaking. Jess answers some questions, asks a few of his own, before sliding the pages back for author approval.

It’s a steady rhythm between the two, but every so often, Jess keeps looking up and catching Keller’s gaze before he averts his eyes.

An hour passes, and they’re close to the final pages, and Jess catches Keller again. This time he frowns. But before he can open his mouth to ask him what’s wrong, Keller finally speaks.

“How’s your writing coming?”

Jess halts, unprepared for the line of questioning. Out of all their editing sessions, Keller has kept the conversation brief and professional. Jess purses his lips, trying to figure out a response.

“That bad of a rut, huh?”

Okay, technically that’s true, but he hasn’t given any indication of that… has he?

He looks at Keller, eyes narrowing slightly at the probing look on his face. “I hear they’re normal,” he says slowly, glancing back down at the printed pages.

“Or indicative of a larger problem.”

The frown on Jess’ face deepens. Okay… he knows he’s been a bit more of a mess lately than normal, but that might be taking it a step too personal.

Keller seems to ignore the way he tenses. “How’s everything at home?”

Jess feels his face shut down in typical defensive mode. He turns his head and fixes Keller with a stony gaze, and the way Keller recoils makes him inwardly grin. It’s nice to know he’s still got it.

Eventually though, he reminds himself that Keller’s a client, and that he should at least try to make an effort, especially if Truncheon wanted any future business opportunities with him in the future. So he forces himself to relax, forces his features to soften into a look that’s a little less intimidating.

He quirks his lips at the author and says, “No offense, but If I wanted to talk about my problems, I’d be visiting a shrink, not reading your book.”

Keller nods in understanding, and Jess thinks the situation’s done until Keller chimes in with a “Can I just say one thing?”

Jess sighs. In his head, he can hear Matthew screaming at him that they need Keller’s contract, so Jess bites his lip and gestures for Keller to continue.

“Not that I’m a complete expert in writing, but during my brief career, I’ve noticed that problems in writing often mirror those in life, and almost all problems generally stem from the same thing.”

Jess just stares at him.

“Stagnation,” Keller resumes. “As much as we as people might hate change, hate the disruptions in our routine, we need it. It’s the only way we can really grow.”

Jess feels a tiny prick in his chest, and he tries to bat it away. “What exactly are you saying?” he addresses Keller. “Is this supposed to be advice or something?”

Keller breathes out a laugh through his nose. He’s quiet for a minute before he speaks again. “I’ve actually been a fan of yours since _The Subsect.”_

That grabs Jess’ attention. He looks up.

Keller gives him a short smile. “It’s actually the reason I wanted to work with you. Found it in this little secondhand shop while I was changing majors between sophomore and junior year of college, trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. And you know what I loved about it?”

_You know what I love about your book? It’s just you._

Jess swallows and mutely shakes his head.

“The rawness of change. You let the character undergo and struggle through this huge transformation, learning about life and loss, and the way you wrote it was real. It was true. And it inspired me so much that I dropped out of college to pursue writing.”

Jess can only blink at him.

“And I’ve read all your stuff,” Keller continues. “ _Portrayal_ , ‘Of Bruises and Duffle Bags,’ the lyrical essay on estranged fathers, which was brilliant by the way, but…” Keller trails off, contemplating his thoughts and Jess feels he’s buzzing, his knee now rapidly tapping against the bottom side of the table.

“But?” Jess prompts, anxious to hear the rest.

Keller sighs. “…I guess none of them have struck me as deep as _The Subsect_. Even when they’re technically superior, more polished pieces.”

Jess sits for a minute, looking for subtext, some kind of reason for Keller to spring this on him. “What exactly are you saying?” he asks. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I’m saying that I think _The Subsect_ was so evocative for me as a reader because it feels like you wrote it while going through the biggest change you experienced as both a person and a writer.”

And Jess feels his stomach drop. Oh. That’s… too perceptive.

He must be showing a scary face again because Keller tries to backtrack. “I mean, that’s what it feels like, but….” He looks at Jess with trepid eyes. “Am I wrong?”

Jess can only hold his gaze for a few seconds before he has to pull away. “No,” he admits in a whisper. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I don’t know what caused you to write _The Subsect_ in the first place, but have you gone through a situation that’s affected you in a similar way since?”

Jess doesn’t even need to answer. He knows his response is written in the somber expression on his face.

Keller leans forward towards him, eyes on his in sympathetic understanding. “How do you expect to really write anything new if you don’t really experience anything new?”

Jess bites his lip hard, partly out of irritation that he’s getting a lecture from someone’s _he’s_ supposed to be helping, but partly from the blunt honesty in his words.

Keller awkwardly retreats back to his seat and looks away. “I apologize if I overstepped. I know we’re not acquainted with each other that well…” He trails off and fidgets with his hands, seemingly uncomfortable.

Jess swallows hard. It’s been awhile since he’s been smacked in the face with honesty, at least with his writing. He feels the familiar fight building up inside him, the itch to say something scathing, but one look at Keller tells him that his only intentions are good. Plus, Matt’s voice so helpfully supplies, Truncheon will still want him in the future. So, he bites back his discomfort. It takes him a moment to find a quote to throw back at him, but eventually he finds it.

“What is writing if not an intimate conversation between strangers?”

Keller blinks at him, silent, and then he gives him a soft smile, recognizing the olive branch. Jess nods and they both return to their work, finishing the final pages, allowing the scratches of their pens to conversate for them.

*****

Midway through November, and the autumn air turns crisper as the earth shakes its leaves and gets ready for frost. And normally, Rory would be excited for her favorite season filled with snow and coffee and twinkling lights and family feasts. But this year, she finds herself dreading the coming winter.

She blames Virginia Woolf.

Maybe it’s the season changing – after all melancholy is the sound on a winter’s night – but she finds herself picking up her copy of _To The Lighthouse_ and reading it in her spare time. Mostly at night. Alone. Missing the warmth of Jess’ arms, the sturdiness of his chest to lay on, the breaths that helped to lull her to a weightless sleep.

These days, she sleeps pitifully, coffee barely enough to clear the circles from under her eyes or heat up the hole inside her chest. She does her best to paint a smile on her face though, act like nothing is wrong. She tries to busy herself with her novel, with Emmy, with her mom and Lane, but she wants.

Oh, how she wants.

_“To want and not to have, sent all up her body a hardness, a hollowness, a strain. And then to want and not to have – to want and want – how that wrung the heart, and wrung it again and again!”_

Thank you, Virginia Woolf.

She hasn’t talked to Jess since that phone call over a month ago. After waiting for a return call, she finally realizes that Jess isn’t going to do it. He’s going to keep his distance. And that realization just makes her feel even worse than she already does.

She still hasn’t told anyone what had transpired between them. Not Lane or even Lorelai, but Rory senses the latter knows something. She feels the pauses in her mother’s conversations with Luke whenever she enters the room. Rory’s avoided talking to Lorelai about it, one because it still hurts too much, and two, what can she say? This is her fault. She’s got no one to blame but herself for this, even if it was for a greater purpose. Lorelai must sense her hesitation because she stays silent on the subject too, but being the caring mother she is, she does her best to distract her.

She’s taken to coming over and dragging Rory by the arm around shops and stores for specials on clothes and Christmas decorations, and Rory goes along with it because she wants to put up a good front, though not without a few biting quips that softly groan out her disapproval this year.

_“Mom, we haven’t even hit Thanksgiving yet.”_

_“We get it, we get it. Christmas is the time for greed and spending. No wonder it’s quick to bypass Thanksgiving.”_

_“You should ring that bell a little louder. I don’t think Santa heard you from the North Pole… That wasn’t a suggestion, Bootsie!”_

_“This is what Black Friday is for. Why can’t Stars Hollow be like the rest of America?”_

After that last complaint, Rory receives an especially long-winded speech from her mother on the evils of the capitalistic world and how Stars Hollow with its small town charm and focus on family stores doesn’t need a corporate boost to survive as it’s the crazy that’s the backbone of their little town, and how dare Rory start siding with THE MEN in fat suits –“It’s down with the Bourgeoisie”— and that this change in character is obviously from the amount of time she’s been spending with a certain hedonist from London and quick! she needs to take Emmy away so she’s not ruined by the character defects of her parents.

And of course, in the course of that entire speech that seems to have gone on for hours, and at a decibel that most in Stars Hollow could hear, the words “Black Friday” seem to catch on in a tizzy, and before she knows it, Rory’s being hounded by Taylor (and soon Miss Patty and Babette and the rest of the townies, but really Taylor) to head a “Black Friday” committee in an effort to save the “holiday” for the biggest sales extravaganza of the year, complete with its own sales parade where each business would display select merchandise on a hand-crafted float; and she should enter Emmy into what would be the “Little Miss Black Friday Pageant” as well as have her participate in the turkey calling contest; and that she shouldn’t even think of declining because since she’s been back, she’s been slacking in her duties to Stars Hollow _–It’s called being a working single mother, Taylor!--_ which is a down right shame because Stars Hollow is the reason she’s been able to be so successful as a writer thanks to the town providing the perfect setting for her book.

And since she’s Rory and she’s never been good at saying no when peer pressured, she agrees, and soon she finds herself swamped with more meetings and float designs and merchandise checks and insurance calls and frequent conversations with a condescending Taylor, and even though the air is turning cold and the sky begins to snow, it feels like earlier this summer, when she was planning Emmy’s birthday party and everyone was chipping in.

Except now there’s no Jess to help with lugging or building or babysitting and easing her stress with caustic quips and glares that make Taylor run when he’s being obnoxious.

There’s no Jess.

Instead there’s Logan, who’s better in shopping and design and charisma perhaps, but lacks the focus and endurance of long-term planning for these events. The nights he’s over to help, she often finds herself struggling over approving permits alone while he’s entertaining Emmy in her room.

But though the work is harder by herself, it’s when she’s alone that she can let her mask fall and give in to the melancholy. Her thoughts have the time to stray into the night.

_“Night, however, succeeds to night. The winter holds a pack of them in store and deals with them equally, evenly, with indefatigable fingers.”_

Indefatigable indeed.

She caresses the sofa next to her as longing continues unrelenting in her chest.

Over three months. She hasn’t seen Jess in over three months. Almost four.

She tries searching her mind for a longer period of absence, particularly in this more modern time, after she’s given birth to Emmy, but her mind comes up blank. Which, of course it does. Adult Jess has yet to fail her.

Even now, he’s gone like a whisper because she asked him to be.

She puts her face in her hands. What was she thinking?

Three months. She was thinking three months to make her daughter happy. And Emmy has been happy, hasn’t she? Aside from that small admission in missing Jess, she’s all wide smiles and exuberant cries when she sees Logan. Rory doesn’t think Emmy’s given any other indication of being sad. She’s even stopped asking about Jess, but Rory feels a slight nagging at the back of her mind that she’s missing something. Something important. She just doesn’t know what.

_“Give me a few months and you guys can do whatever.”_

It’s been over three months, and Logan is still here. He still spends a good portion of the week in Hartford in his apartment and at work in Stamford. But he’s come over more often, making good on his promise, and Rory’s happy to see that. Really she is. She’s always wanted Logan to have a good relationship with Emmy.

But it’s been three months.

_“Give me a few months and you guys can do whatever.”_

She hears a door open, and she looks up and sees Logan slipping out of Emmy’s room.

She’s glad they’re spending time together, but her heart’s telling her it’s time.

“Logan,” she calls softly.

He turns and gives her a sleepy smile. “You still working, Ace?”

She shakes her head.

He yawns and slowly walks over to the couch, dropping down into the cushions with a plop.

She moves her hand to her lap as Logan leans towards her.

“Logan,” she tries again.

His head falls onto her shoulder. “Mmm?”

It’s been years since they last slept together, but she still remembers the way his breaths even out against the flesh of her neck.

She jerks her shoulder. “Logan,” she repeats more sternly.

He lifts his head and cracks a bleary eye at her. “Yeah?”

She makes sure she has direct eye contact before continuing. “It’s been three months,” she speaks carefully.

Logan blinks his eyes in confusion. “What?”

She waits for him to refocus before she stresses, “It’s been three months.”

He stares at her with half-lidded eyes, head tilted to the side, trying to comprehend her words. And then she sees his eyes blink wide in understanding.

“Oh.” He straightens his back and looks down at his knees.

She copies his posture. “Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a minute, the only sound in the room a ticking clock. When she’s counted the ticks to one hundred and twenty-seven, he finally speaks.

“Give me a little bit more time.” He looks up and stares at her, a slight plea in his eyes.

She swallows hard and he nods, as if she already agreed.

He pats her knee and stands, grabbing his keys from his pocket and quietly exits out the front door.

She watches him go in silence as the longing in her chest squeezes, then intensifies.

“What is more?” she asks to the empty room.

*****

Thanksgiving finally comes and she’s a nervous wreck. Because somewhere, somehow, earlier this week, she finally realizes that Jess could be coming for their usual family celebratory dinner.

Excited at the prospect of finally seeing him, but terrified of what exactly to say.

It turns out the anxiety is unwarranted because he doesn’t show, and she honestly doesn’t know what’s worse: the stressful worrying over any potential interaction or the numbness that settles in when she realizes he’s absent, again.

She feels out of place during the festivities. Feels bored at the usual banter between her mom and Luke over flowers and tradition. Feels annoyed when she sees Logan smile at Emmy. Feels jealous seeing Sookie and Jackson’s casual intimacy, even after all of these years. She forces her lips upwards whenever someone makes a comment her way, but she can’t muster the same engagement in wit that she normally has. She feels like a fake, sitting amongst the happy couples, like she doesn’t deserve to be there.

And really, does she?

When dinner starts winding down, Rory hops up and volunteers for cleaning duty, quickly gathering empty plates and bowls and carrying them to the kitchen. She immerses herself in the methodical – dip, scrub, rinse – and soon the repetition takes the edge of her thoughts.

Lorelai comes in a few moments later, and she tenses, shoulders pinched. Cause here it is. The moment her mom finally asks about Jess, and she’s gonna have a complete breakdown on Thanksgiving with everyone in the other room.

Lorelai steps over and Rory braces herself, but her mom only runs her hand across her back and pulls her into a side hug. Rory accepts it and melts into her mother’s side, fighting the urge to cry. When they release, Rory puts on the same forced smile, albeit a little more watery, and Lorelai matches it while holding out her hand. Together, they finish the dishes side by side, working quietly.

By this point, Rory doesn’t know which is worse: her mother asking about Jess or avoiding the topic altogether.

The next day is absolute chaos and Rory can barely catch her breath as she’s running from one side of the square to the next, finalizing last minute details for the parade. By noon, everything is done and SH, usually a bustling small town, is suddenly packed as if it’s the city on a hot summer’s day. People from neighboring towns like Woodbridge and Hartford had heard of their Black Friday festival ( _“This online advertisement in truly the weapon of the future!” “The rest of the world has already figured that out Taylor!”_ ) and drove into town.

She’s got a pretty good seat on the main float behind the line of young girls competing for Little Miss Black Friday. Logan stands behind her, practically like a bodyguard, and Rory smiles awkwardly whenever he touches her shoulder or bends down to say something in her ear. Again, he seems to forgo the concept of boundaries, but Rory knows better than go talk to him about it here. So she paints another smile on her face and does her best to enjoy the parade.

Inwardly she cringes at the some of the floats, like the gaudiness of Miss Patty’s decked out in feathers and glitter as her students dance a bad rendition of “The Sugar Plum Fairy” in silvery leotards, or the failure of Kirk’s as it’s a cornucopia advertising his failed businesses with his signs continuing to fall down.

She’s secretly surprised by Gypsy’s float, fashioned after a 1956 Chevy Bel Air, with a sign above it that says “Who knows the road better than Gypsy’s? Bring your car to me, and we’ll have you back on the road in no time.”

Her mom’s float takes the cake though with a massive king size canopy bed front and center decked out in fairy lights, her mom sitting on it like a queen dressed in the fanciest lounge wear she had ever seen. Michel stands behind her in a gold suit waving like a French princess as the float passes.

Yet even with all the hoopla, the parade is a major success, and Rory feels a tiniest bit of pride as she sees the excitement on people’s faces, cheering at the parade while chugging down hot chocolate and apple pie fritters, courtesy of Sookie of Luke. Despite how miserable she’s failing in writing and her complicated love life, at least she’s still successful somewhere.

It’s only towards the end of the day, when Taylor places a small sparkling crown on Emmy’s head that Rory shows a true smile. It comes naturally when she sees her daughter’s eyes light up in pure joy, seemingly the brightest they’ve ever shone, but it’s a fleeting moment because the next moment has her staring in horror as her daughter runs to jump off the moving float.

Logan apparently has better reflexes than her because he catches Emmy by the waist before she can finish the jump. “Whoa there,” he says, bringing her up in his arms. Emmy struggles a minute, doing her best to get down.

“What’s the hurry there, shorty?”

Emmy turns her head back to the crowd, whipping her head this way and that, before finally she stills.

Logan whispers something in her ear, and Emmy smiles tightlipped at him.

When she sees it, Rory freezes. Because that smile is familiar. After all, she herself had been wearing it for the last three months.

And suddenly she’s questioning all their interactions the last three months. How often had Emmy smiled like that and she had missed it, too caught up in her own grief from her mistakes? She thinks of just moments before, with the way her blue eyes shone, and Rory can barely remember the last time they were that bright.

Subconsciously, Rory scans the crowd, trying to figure out what made her daughter light up. And maybe it’s a hitch of laughter or something someone says, but Rory feels it in her gut before she sees him.

At the back of the crowd, he’s there, engaged in conversation with Luke.

She’s on her feet before she knows it, body already pulling towards him, like a carbon copy of her daughter, but a jolt from the float reminds her where she is. She looks back up and watches as uncle and nephew walk into Luke’s.

She’s jittery the rest of the parade, wishing it could just end, her gaze constantly looking back to the car in front of the diner. When the parade finally comes to stop, Rory quickly jumps off the float.

“And you didn’t even need an umbrella,” Logan smirks behind her.

Rory gives a quick turn of the lips. “I’m gonna take Emmy to Luke’s. Grab some coffee. A hot chocolate for her. You know us Gilmores. Can’t be without our coffee.” She holds out her hands expectantly, doing her best to keep her face neutral.

Something must show though because Logan peers at her curiously as he lets Emmy climb down. “Okay,” he drawls.

She nods, takes Emmy’s hand in hers, and quickly heads in the direction of the diner. And of course that’s when everyone decides they want to move.

She struggles against the crowd, trying to push past, but keeps tripping over shoes. She bobs her head and catches a glimpse of Jess and Luke exiting Luke’s, car keys in Jess’ hand, and Rory starts to panic a little bit.

She pushes more, gets slightly pushed back, and basically makes very little progress. If only her mom was here. Or Taylor with his megaphone. That way she could order people around….. wait a minute.

She looks back to Emmy who’s scrambling under a person’s legs and Rory grins.

She fixes her crown, puts Emmy on her shoulders and yells, “Little Miss Black Friday coming through, and she would like you to MOVE!” And to her surprise, the people do and she grins in relief. She quickens her steps to a nice trot, not running – Gilmores don’t run, and finally she breaks out from the crowd.

The exhilaration is cut short however as she and Emmy have just enough time to catch a flash of brake lights before they pitifully watch a black Charger drive away.

She really does hate the sight.

As they stand there alone in the street, unhelpfully, a quote from _To The Lighthouse_ flashes in her mind.

_“For our penitence deserves a glimpse only.”_

Rory decides right then and there that her resolution for New Year’s is to _not_ read Virginia Woolf.

*****

_Hardened as Glass_ is finished the week before Christmas, and Matt and Chris immediately get started on celebrations as if the holiday was already here. “We’re gonna be rich!” “The best Christmas present ever!”

He smiles at their excitement, but his is short-lived. He’s glad the book is finished. Glad they can finally start printing and make some money, probably more than Truncheon has ever seen. He’s proud that he had a hand in what will probably be another award-winning book (it’s truly amazing. One of the best he’s read in years.)

But he can’t lie. He’s in a foul mood, constantly on edge now, and he’s unsure as how to break out of it. And this is all Keller’s fault, hence why he’s not up for celebrating.

He decides to skip out on Christmas in the Hollow, spending the time instead in his room and rereading old familiar favorites. Luke calls, but he presses “ignore,” sending the standard “I can’t talk right now” text back so Luke doesn’t get in his pickup and drive four hours to kick his ass again.

But he needs to stay away. He needs to be alone. His mind is busy trying to fold in on itself. Besides, Stars Hollow with their happy families and over the top parades and festivals is too much for him right now. Irritably, he thinks of Thanksgiving, happily seeing Emmy crowned as “Little Miss Black Friday” until he saw Rory and Logan standing a few feet away, looking like the proud parents he’s sure they were.

The last thing he needs is seeing more of their happy coupling.

So no, he’s staying home, alone, in his room, being ever the Grinch that his reputation says he is.

Matt and Chris try to invite him out to their family dinners, but he declines. It’s not just Rory that’s making the hair rise on his arms.

They’re still Matt and Chris, the same idiots he’s lived with for almost twenty years. Matt’s still a pain in the ass waxing poetically about broken hearts while leaving dirty socks in the folds of the couch. And Chris is ever still the artist, constantly leaving wet paintbrushes and charcoal on the dining table, splatters of paint in the kitchen sink. It’s the same as it’s always been, flurries of activity and discussion on politics and literature, all things he usually enjoys, except now he finds their voices grating and the conversations dull, and they give him long side-eyes and sighs when he responds in sharp clipped tones.

But it’s not them that he has a problem with. Not really.

Like he said, this is Keller’s fault because ever since his final meeting with the award-winning author, he hasn’t looked at his life the same way. Keller’s words just keep repeating in his mind, on a loop, as if daring him to act.

But act on what? What is he supposed to do?

_As much as we as people might hate change, hate the disruptions in our routine, we need it. It’s the only way we can really grow._

Okay, he gets that. He needs to change. But how exactly? In what way?

Chris and Matt arrive back from their family dinners in high spirits. They drag Jess out of his room, despite his many protests, and soon they’re diving into yet another literary debate, (best Christmas novel this time, which obviously is _A Christmas Carol_ , no discussion), but Jess can’t be bothered. He’s too caught up in his thoughts now. And longing for two people he apparently can’t have.

Maybe that’s the problem?

He’s irritable because living with Matt and Chris only seems to strengthen the ache in his chest, because as wonderful as they are, and truly they are wonderful friends, they’re not Emmy and Rory. There’s no sleepovers or pillow forts, or rewatches of classic movies. There’s no quiet private conversations in the dead of night of dreams and secret fears. There’s no singular feeling of belonging with their weights on his chest or listening to their breaths as they sleep.

It’s the intimacy he craves, and not just any, but theirs, and it’s a constant scratch against his soul the longer he’s without it.

_How do you expect to write anything new if you don’t experience anything new?_

Okay. Maybe that’s only part of the problem. Because if that was the case, he’d be able to write something he actually likes by now. Cause the domesticity is new. The sleepovers and the pillow forts ~~are~~ _were_ new.

But the craving of intimacy he’s had his entire life thanks to a runaway father and a neglectful mother. And at this point, loving a Gilmore girl is imbedded in his bone marrow.

He downs the rest of his beer and quietly exits the living room, missing the concerned glances on his friends’ faces. He heads to his room and flops down on his bed.

_… but have you gone through a situation that’s affected you in a similar way since?_

No. No, he hasn’t.

it’s not that he hasn’t changed, because he has. But writing _The Subsect_ was different. It completely changed the concept of who he thought he was, who he thought he could be.

And maybe that’s it. Because though he’s changed a little, there hasn’t been a substantial change, at least not to the core of who he is and how he views himself. At his core, he’s been the same person for twenty years.

Working the same job.

Living with the same people.

Loving the same woman.

He stares at the walls in his room until he feels the taste of bile in his mouth from the bitter realization.

He can’t be this bachelor anymore.

When he wakes the next morning, Matt and Chris are already awake, sipping on coffee as they sit at the kitchen peninsula.

They look up when he walks in and he halts, stares at the pensive expressions on their faces. Keller’s question floats back to him – _Have you gone through a situation that’s affected you in a similar way since? –_ and the words are out of him before he even has a chance to consider them. “I’m moving out.”

As soon as he says them, he feels a release in his chest. The pain’s still there, but it’s duller now. He can breathe a little easier.

Matt looks dumbstruck while Chris just smiles sadly.

“What?” Matt starts, and Jess bites his lip because this is gonna be rough. Matt’s always been a little excitable, but he knows springing this news on him will crush him.

Matt’s mouth opens and closes. Opens and closes again. “If this is about the intervention—”

“It’s not.” The way they handled that pissed him off, but he needed the wake-up call.

“Then why?” Matt croaks out, and Jess hates himself just a little bit.

“It’s time,” he says softly.

“Bullshit!”

“Matt.”

“Don’t ‘Matt’ me!” he snaps back, his face already seething red. “This is bullshit! You’ve been perfectly fine with our living arrangements for the last twenty years, and now suddenly it’s a problem?!”

“That _is_ the problem, Matt,” Jess says calmly. “I don’t want fine anymore.”

“For fuck’s sake, this is about Rory, isn’t it?”

Maybe a little bit, but not entirely. “Matt—” he tries.

Matt ignores him. “I swear I do not understand the hold she has on you. She said a couple nice things to you when you were young, yeah, yeah, but since then she’s treated you like crap –”

“Matt.” He doesn’t need to hear this tirade right now.

“—Used you and keeps picking the same douchebag moneypants over you—”

“Matt!” Apparently, Chris agrees with him.

“—You’re saying living together for twenty years is a problem, but being in love with the same fucking woman who keeps rejecting you for twenty years is even worse—"

Yes, he’s well aware of how pathetic he is. “I know.”

“—For the love of fucking Hemingway, you need to let her go before she kills you for good.”

“Matt!” Chris grabs Matt’s arm and yanks him back. But he doesn’t need to. Jess is too tired to fight anymore. Especially because he knows Matt’s right.

“You’re right,” he verbalizes. Both Matt and Chris freeze.

“I – you – what?” Matt is stunned into silence and Jess almost laughs. Almost.

Instead he takes a deep breath and looks around the apartment, seeing the dirty socks on the floor, the mountains of books strewn across various nooks in the room, the rings of coffee cups on the counters. He sees their lives together, intertwined.

“You know,” Jess starts, thinking of their moments the past two decades with fond nostalgia, “I’ve always felt like this was my ‘grass is greener’ side, like this was as good as it was going to get for me. Finding a stable job where I get to do what I love with people that I love. Growing up the way I did, this was all I ever wanted.”

“But?” Chris asks hesitantly after a few moments of silence.

Jess grimaces. “But lately, it feels like I’ve been stagnant,” he confesses. “Like I’ve been too complacent.”

“Jess—” Jess cuts Matt off with his hand.

“You know, when we started this, we had five guys. You, me, Chris, Rick, and Eric.”

Matt scowls. “You just had to bring them up.”

“It’s for a point.”

“Sell outs do not make your point,” Matt grumbles. Beside him Chris is nodding.

“They only left for better,” Jess attempts, but it’s hard. He still feels the sting of their “betrayal” just as they do. “They got better paying jobs.”

“We’re indie! We’re not in this for the money.”

“I never said we were.”

“Then what?” Matt spats.

“I’m saying that they found a way to have it all. They still work in publishing, but they also settled down. Got married. Had a couple kids.”

“So they got lucky! What does that have to do with us?”

“You ever think that maybe we’re still bachelors because we live like this?”

That shuts Matt up, his eyes turning downcast to the floor.

Jess gets it. He does. This realization suckerpunched him too. But he’s got to do this. “I know we’ve always thought indie publishing is cool. And it is. We get to print out the books we really want to. We get to help young writers like we were get published. We get to publish works that are actually important to us. We can work literally whenever we want. But at the end of the day, we still come home to this apartment above the store like we’re still twenty-year-old frat boys in college, which is pretty ironic considering I never went.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Matt tries weakly.

“Then why are none of us married?” Jess looks at them and he knows they can’t answer. “Or have kids?” he continues. “Or our own places? We can certainly afford it. Rent isn’t astronomically expensive here like in New York.”

He pauses and gently asks Matt, “Why didn’t you move in with Sarah?” He turns to Chris. “Or you with Trevor?”

They’re completely silent in front of him, and as much as it pains him to admit it, he knows he’s right. He has to do this.

He thinks back to Rory’s words and though he hates hearing them again, in this context, they fit. He repeats them. “We got too comfortable.”

It’s a somber mood now. Heaviness hangs in the air. It’s too much this early in the morning, so Jess goes to the fridge and pulls out three bottles of beer. He hands two to Chris and Matt. They take it wordlessly.

Jess unscrews his and takes a drink.

“When?” Matt suddenly asks, his eyes bleary and red.

Jess lowers his bottle. “Soon. We are entering a new year after all.”

“You want us to go with?”

Jess waves him off. “Nah. Actually, I think I might ask Luke. He’s been hitting my phone up since I missed visiting for Christmas.”

Matt nods, and Chris looks at him for a minute before asking, “You gonna tell Rory?”

Jess breaks his gaze and looks at the floor. Thinks of Keller’s words that have haunted him for weeks until he brings the bottle to his lips and lets the drink answer for him.

*****

“Come on, come on, come on!!!!” Emmy jumps up and down by the door, dressed in boots and a new puffy jacket, a snow cap on her hat. She rubs her gloved hands together as she sways from side to side. “Let’s gooooo!!!!” she moans out impatiently.

Rory rolls her eyes in fond exasperation as she finishes putting on her coat. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

“If you don’t hurry, we’re gonna be late! And Aunty Lane said I could play them loudly this time since Taylor’s out of town.” Emmy grabs her mom’s wrist and tries pulling her to the door.

Christmas was a few days ago, and they spent it much like Thanksgiving, just with more presents. When Jess was absent again, _no card or present or anything,_ she feels the roil in her stomach that tells her she really messed things up this time. The haunting look in his eyes as he left her house has been giving her nightmares for the past couple of weeks, as if the dreams are premonitions that he really is gone this time.

Thankfully though, Christmas was as busy as Thanksgiving was, with the entire Gilmore/Danes/Van Gerbig/Belleville families stuffed into Gilmore House #1. Rory barely had time to feel depressed as Emmy squealed in happiness at her gifts, the loudest of which came from Lane’s gift: her very own pink drum set. Rory had stared in horror for a moment, because how was she ever going to get any writing done with Emmy banging away, but Lane promised to keep the kit at her house.

“We got soundproofing in the twins’ room after Taylor kept trying to hit us with tickets,” Lane had whispered to her and Rory sighed gratefully.

Hence why she now had a little girl pulling her arm incessantly. “Come ooonnnn,” Emmy whines.

“Alright, little Sandy,” Rory replies, fixing the scarf around Emmy’s neck. “If you’re going to be a professional drummer, the first thing you should know is that the _best_ parties always start a little late.”

“And feature a lot of beer and alcohol.” Logan mimes tipping back a cold one as Rory throws him a look of disapproval. He quickly backtracks. “Not that you need to know anything about that, Sandra Dee.”

He blinks when Emmy and Rory give him twin looks of confusion. “Uh, Grease?”

“Oooo! Like the Pink Ladies!” Emmy squeals.

Rory chuckles. “Not quite.”

“Next time, can I wear a leather jacket too?”

“Yes. Once you’ve grown a little taller, developed a smoking habit, and grown a penchant for living out of a car. Which hopefully won’t be for many many years. Or never.”

“But Mommy, all the rockers wear them! And it’ll match my drums!” Emmy argues.

“Yes they do,” Rory agrees, before she iterates, “When they’re much _much_ older.” She chuckles when Emmy starts to pout in disappointment. She glances at Logan.

“Rockers?” he mouths to Rory.

“Sandy West,” she replies. Logan furrows his brows further in confusion. “Sandy West?” she repeats. “Female drummer of the Runaways?”

“Oh,” he nods along as if in understanding, and Rory can’t help but wish someone else was standing next to her, one who was well versed in punk rock. She bites away the yearning and nudges Emmy towards Logan. “Tell your dad goodbye.”

Emmy runs over to Logan, who’s bent forward to envelope her in a hug. She kisses him on the cheek.

“Bye Daddy!”

“Bye Pumpkin.”

“Are you picking me up tomorrow?”

Logan side eyes Rory before answering. “We’ll see what we can do.”

Rory narrows her eyes at him, suspicious of that look, before allowing herself to be led out the door and into the frostbitten air.

Lane only lives a few minutes away, but it takes awhile as Rory has to keep Emmy from slipping all over the ice in her exuberance. When they finally make it to Lane’s, their cheeks are ruddy red, and Rory has to keep rubbing at Emmy’s running nose.

Lane opens the door with a wide smile, and Emmy immediately lets go of Rory’s hand, racing inside and heading straight upstairs for the drums.

“Well, hello to you too!” Lane calls after her. She laughs and turns back to Rory and gives her a big hug.

“So, how are you?“ Rory asks once they’re separated and inside the warm house.

“Good, good. Well aside from the boys. They keep driving me crazy now that they’ve hit the age of teenage rebellion.”

“Oh yeah?” Rory asks as she unwinds the scarf from around her neck.

“Yes!” Lane half-yells, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “I’m both in shock and in awe of some of the things they’ve been doing. I never would have had the imagination to pull these stunts off.”

Rory cocks her head with a smile as she removes her coat. “What did they do?”

Lane hands Rory a cup of coffee and flops down onto the couch. “Well last week we caught Kwan swiping Zack’s driver’s license and trying to temporarily re-laminate it with his picture on it instead so he can go to the RVIVR show in the city for New Year’s.”

Rory’s eyes bug out. “What?!”

“And Steve apparently has a huge tattoo on his back, which I only saw because I accidentally walked in on him changing when I was doing the laundry.”

“How did he get a tattoo?”

“I don’t even know!” Lane wails. “I mean, this is Stars Hollow. The closest you can find to tattoo ink is the crafts store in the town square.”

Rory has no other response than to laugh. “I’m so sorry Lane,” she says between chortles.

Lane waves her off. “It’s okay. But now I understand how Mom felt all those years ago. Thank God, I hid most of the things I did.”

“Like the cds and snacks you kept under the floorboards? Or the time you dyed your hair purple only to dye it back to black immediately?”

They look at each other and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Honestly I’m surprised your hair didn’t fall out,” Rory croaks.

“Oh God,” Lane gasps. “Can you imagine? I was so worried about giving Mom a heart attack. She definitely would have dropped dead if I had come back bald.”

“Almost like having your own Britney moment.”

“Except without the badassness of shaving off my own head.”

“Who knew the pop princess had some punk?”

“Definitely not me.”

Eventually the giggles subside, and Lane turns her gaze on her friend. Rory squirms under the weight of it until she asks, “What?”

Lane looks for another minute before she springs up and declares, “Okay. That’s it.”

“What?"

“Time to talk.”

And now Rory’s looking around her confused. “Isn’t that what we’re doing?” She watches Lane walk out of the room. “Where are you going?”

“Hold on, I’m picking out the right music.”

“For what?”

“A serious conversation deserves the right atmosphere.”

“A serious conversation about what?"

“Jess.”

Rory’s smile drops from her face.

“And Logan.”

“Lane,” she sighs.

It takes a minute, but eventually Lane finds a record and puts it on. Gentle folk guitar strums fill the room accompanied by a soulful airy soprano. Rory recognizes it immediately.

“I’m not so depressed as to need _Blue_ ,” she pouts as Lane sits back down on the couch next to her.

Lane just stares at her through her glasses. “Honey, you’re as blue as Pablo Picasso. Now tell your best friend what’s going on.”

Rory swallows down the rest of her coffee. “Nothing,” she denies. “There’s nothing going on.”

Lane leans forward and stares at Rory’s face.

Rory flinches back. “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking to see if your nose is gonna grow from that giant lie you just told.”

Rory gently pushes her away and looks down at her lap. Lane just sits and waits.

“I messed up, Lane.”

“How so?”

Rory thinks back to that day in her house, hearing the excuses fly out of her mouth, watching as she completely breaks Jess in front of her. Before she knows it, Rory is crying out huge sobs, unbridled and guttural, loud in the living room. For a panicked second she thinks of Emmy, and quickly she tries to cover her mouth, but Lane is right there, pulling her to her.

“It’s okay. She’s upstairs banging on the drums with the twins. They won’t hear a thing.”

And it’s like the gates open and the flood comes out.

Rory doesn’t know how long she’s like that, crying against Lane’s shoulder as she chokes out the main gist of the situation, but it feels like it’s hours because when she’s finished her throat hurts and her voice is hoarse.

“Have you talked to him?” Lane asks, handing over a box of tissues.

Rory takes it gratefully as she shakes her head. “Aside from the one phone call, no. It just hurts too much.”

“You miss him.”

Rory just nods and leans back into the cushions. She takes a tissue and blows her nose until it’s blotchy and red. “God, you’d think I’d be used to this by now.”

“I don’t think heartbreak is something you can really get used to, even if it is with Jess.”

“What do you think I should do?”

“Well, I still don’t think I know more about love than you do–”

Rory shoots her an unimpressed look. “You’re kidding, right, miss married for 15 years?”

“Okay, so maybe I know a little something something.”

Rory lifts up teary blue eyes and pouts. “Help me, Obi Wan.”

Lane leans back and puts her arm around Rory. “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching you and Jess over the years, it’s that no matter how bad things get between you two, you always find a way back to each other in the end.”

Rory twists her fingers in her lap as she looks down. “I think that has more to do with him than me at this point.”

“I don’t believe that,” Lane says firmly. Rory shoots her eyes back up to her friend’s face as Lane continues. “It takes two people for any relationship to work. And both people have to want it. And it seems to me, that no matter how bad things get, or how much you guys deny it,” Lane gives her a pointed look, “both of you still do.”

Rory thinks on her words and smiles gratefully. “Have I told you how wonderfully amazing you are and that I would be living out of a gutter if it weren’t for you?”

“Well, I’ve always considered myself an amazing friend.”

“The best,” Rory stresses.

“He’ll be back. He always comes back, right?”

She pictures him as he walks away from her at the party, seeing him on the bus, watching him drive away after saying “I love you,” turning away from her at Yale, at the pub, in her house. Multiple times he’s left and multiple times he’s come back.

“Yeah,” Rory lets out in a sigh. She can only hope.

“What are you gonna do about Logan?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know what I can do, Lane.”

Lane hmmms thoughtfully in assent. “Honestly, I’m surprised he’s still here. It’s been months.”

And this is why Lane is her best friend. “Exactly!” Rory exclaims. “And I hate that I’m questioning it, but it feels weird that he’s still here, right?”

Lane nods “Definitely.”

Inwardly, Rory breathes a sigh of relief that at least in this, she’s not going crazy.

“How does Odette feel about it?” Lane asks.

“He said she didn’t care and hasn’t said anything about it since.”

“You think he wants you back?”

“No,” Rory states immediately, but there’s a small amount of doubt that says otherwise. Like the way he tried to fall asleep on her shoulder. Or stood behind her at the parade. She tries to talk through it. “I mean that’s crazy, right? We both agreed we were done. We moved on. He got married. I had Emmy.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know. He’s suddenly back in our lives, over all the time, and I’m glad he’s building a relationship with Emmy. It’s all I ever wanted, but…” Rory trails off, unsure how to continue without sounding completely selfish and inconsiderate.

Lane picks up on it. “It makes you uncomfortable.”

“Yes. And I feel like a horrible person for thinking that way.”

“Don’t. It is weird, especially since he spent the first five years being the textbook definition of an absent father… I mean, unless if you want him back.”

“Absolutely not.” Rory responds, completely deadpan.

“Then it’s weird. If I was in your shoes, I’d be feeling whiplash too.”

Whiplash. The perfect description. That’s exactly how she feels right now. “I just feel like I can’t get my bearings straight. I can’t write. I can’t sleep. I miss Jess--” her voice breaks off in a wobble and she takes a breath to continue, “-- _so_ much, and everything just feels so upside down right now.”

Lane rubs her hand in circles on Rory’s back.

Rory sniffles and chuckles. “And you know how much I hate being disoriented.”

“True.”

Her cellphone rings in the pause, and Rory grabs it from her purse. She and Lane look at the caller id and Rory groans.

“You should take it,” Lane says, nudging her in the shoulder. “You know she’s only going to nag you and your mom if you don’t.”

Rory grimaces, hating that Lane’s right, and answers the phone.

“Hey Grandma,” she answers.

“Well look who sounds so enthusiastic to hear from me? Is it too much to ask that one of my loved ones sounds happy to hear from me? I swear, ever since your grandfather passed and I moved to Nantucket, it’s like almost pulling teeth to get one of you to talk to me.”

Already she’s letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m just not feeling very well right now.”

She can hear Emily’s frown through the phone. “You’re not sick, are you? If you are, I can give you the name to a wonderful doctor. He healed Jack’s cold with some kind of tonic in just a couple of days. Worked like a charm, and you need it, especially in that town. I wouldn’t trust them with my health to heal a papercut, let alone something serious.”

Rory finally cuts in. “Did you call for a reason, Grandma, or just to complain about my life choices?”

“All right, all right. I did call for a specific reason, one I think you’d be quite ecstatic about…”

There’s something in Emily’s tone that puts her on guard, that slight air of condescension whenever her grandmother is planning something. Immediately Rory is suspicious, but she misses half of what Emily says as she assesses her tone. She did however pick up on something about Logan.

“I’m sorry, Grandma,” she interrupts. “My mind can’t keep up with allusions and innuendos right now. What are you saying?”

“That little french swan?” Emily starts with victory in her tone, and Rory feels her stomach drop. “She’s pregnant! Quite the scandal too. I heard it from Biddy, who heard it from Tilly, but called Shira to confirm, and also to gloat. She never did think you were good enough for her son. My how the tables have turned. So much for being married to a French heiress when she doesn’t even have the class to remain faithful to her husband. And to think that she and Logan don’t even have a child of their own. No heir to the throne. Looks like you got the good seed, so to speak.”

Now she really is starting to feel sick. “Grandma,” she warns weakly.

Emily carries on. “So much for the Huntzberger Empire. I wonder what Mitchum will do now. Their name surely won’t hold quite as much weight after this, especially now that everyone knows both of them had a child out of wedlock, despite how much he’s tried to ignore Emmy over the years.”

“Grandma!” She needs her to stop. This is the last thing she can hear right now.

“But this is perfect. Because now he can finally get that divorce, and you two can finally get married and be the ideal couple you were always meant to be. And I can’t tell you how much that relieves me because I was so sure you were going to follow after your mother and marry that diner man’s nephew, the boho artist, God what an awful profession. I was worried your trust fund would be gone in three years.”

“GRANDMA!” Rory screams. She refuses to hear anything bad about Jess at the moment. Not when he’s been pretty much perfect. Except, you know, for the absence part, which is her fault.

Emily finally slows down her tirade. “What? Don’t tell me you’re not happy about all of this?”

“I didn’t know,” Rory says softly, trying to calm down.

“What do you mean you didn’t know? Did he not tell you?”

“No.” She can’t really describe what she’s feeling right now. Not quite shock. Not quite anger. There’s something else that’s slowly being drawn from the back of her mind, but it’s hazy.

“Of course he didn’t. Men are always so quick to shirk their responsibilities. Thankfully your grandfather was one of the few who didn’t. But no matter. Us Gilmore women are strong. You’ll just have to train him.”

Train him? Oh no. “Grandma!” Rory yells again.

“Yes, Rory. Why do you keep cutting me off?”

She makes sure to enunciate. “We’re not together.”

There’s a pause, before Emily comes back on the line. “I’m sorry. This connection on this phone seems to be going bad. Must be the sea waves. Now say that again.”

“Logan and I aren’t together,” she repeats more slowly.

There’s another pause and then Emily says, “Oh, I get it. This is another one of your jokes, right? Tell Lorelai she needs to find a new sense of humor because I don’t find this funny at all.”

Rory silently screams into her palm. “Grandma, it’s not a joke.”

Emily pauses. “It’s not?”

“No. We’re really not together.”

There’s another pause. Rory waits for it.

“What do you mean you’re not together?!” Emily cries. There it is. “You’re posting photos on that silly Facegram all the time!”

“I didn’t post those pictures.”

“Well then who did?”

“Logan did, without my permission.” Another thing he concealed from her until she found out about it.

“So that’s not really the three of you together? All the rumors are false? He’s hasn’t moved to Hartford?”

“No, he has, and that’s us, but we’re not together.”

“Then why is he there?”

“He wants to spend time with Emmy.” Or so he said. Have the last four months been just a lie?

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” God, she’s tired.

“Well, it only took him five years.”

“Grandma.”

“Well, it’s the truth isn’t it? He barely showed any interest in his daughter since she’s been born and now, suddenly he’s got the time to not only visit, but move.”

Yes, the entire situation has felt very weird. “He said he wanted to be better. He said he wanted to change it, actually be there for Emmy.” Why does that feel like excuses now that she’s saying it out loud?

“That’s all fine and well, but you don’t find the timing of all of this strange?”

Rory can’t say a thing because was she not just talking about this with Lane?

And right on cue… “He has to want you back.”

“Grandma.” Rory is really, really tired.

“He realizes he made a mistake, and now he’s here to fix everything. Well, better late than never.”

“Grandma!” Rory yells sharply. The line goes quiet and Rory takes a shaky breath. “Look,” she states more calmly. “Regardless of why he’s here, let me make one thing very clear. He can always be in our lives as Emmy’s father, but that’s it. There is no more me and Logan.”

There’s dead silence on the line.

“Grandma?” Rory asks sternly.

Emily finally speaks, exhaustion lilting in her voice. “Yes, Rory?”

“Did you hear me?”

A heavy exhale, and then, “Yes, I heard you. Don’t worry. I’m not planning any parties or dinners with Logan as a surprise guest. It was hard enough failing all those times with your mother.”

Rory lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she says until she freezes as something clicks in her brain. Her mom….. and her dad. She shakes herself from her reverie when she hears Emily speak again.

“I just….” Emily cuts herself off.

“What?” Rory prods gently.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

She can hear the hesitance and concern in Emily’s voice, and she smiles, albeit weakly. “Yes Grandma. I’m sure.”

“Okay then. You’re still coming for spring break next month?”

“Yeah. We’ll be there.”

“All right. See you then. Goodbye, Rory.”

“Bye, Grandma.”

She hangs up, lets her fingers press the screen before her hand falls limp by her side. Talk about whiplash. This new revelation has turned Rory’s head topsy turvy and she feels dizzy, like she’s experiencing vertigo.

She’s not so sure she isn’t.

Before she knows it, she finds herself walking out the door and away from Lane’s house without so much as a goodbye. Her steps are slow and uneasy as her shoes crunch in the snow. She ignores the wind as it starts to build up around her, enough to blow her scarf. She ignores the greetings she gets as she walks down the street. Her mind is in a fugue state, replaying her grandmother’s words over and over again.

_She’s pregnant. Quite the scandal too. I heard it from Biddy, who heard it from Tilly, but called Shira to confirm, and also to gloat. She never did think you were good enough for her son. My how the tables have turned._

_What do you mean you’re not together. You’re posting photos on that silly Facegram all the time._

_Then why is he there?_

_You don’t find the timing of all of this strange?_

No, she does.

She does.

Her phone rings, but she doesn’t answer it.

Her thoughts are swirling around her now like a storm that’s ready to strike on land. Odette’s pregnant. That’s surprising, but not unexpected. Talk of divorce. Not really surprising, given the present circumstances. Odette had cheated? That’s truly surprising. But Rory couldn’t say that she knew the woman well enough to know if that was in her character. However, the most surprising revelation was the familiarity of the situation. Her brain slowly draws parallels to the end of junior year with her dad and Sherry. How he had shown up for Sookie’s wedding, with promises that things would be different. That he and Lorelai would work everything out. And then the bombshell.

She had been saying for years that Logan wasn’t like Christopher, so much that it’s like a broken record by this point. He’s not Christopher. But this feels like something he would do.

Girlfriend pregnant. Relationship in shambles. Come back to the ex and child with promises of a fresh new start. Only Christopher had chosen Sherry, trying to do the right thing. What was Logan trying to do?

She looks up and she’s in front of her house. There’s light coming from the living room and a silver Lexus parked in the driveway. Logan. With Emmy staying the night at Lane’s, he should be gone, back in his own apartment in Hartford.

She climbs the steps of her porch with laden feet.

_Then why is he there?_

A valid question. One she had been too afraid to ask, too willing to accept daddy bonding time as a reason. But it’s been months and he’s still here. Why is he still here? Why is she questioning why he is still here? Shouldn’t it be natural for a father to want to spend time with his daughter?

_And you don’t find the timing of all of this strange?_

Only comes back when things between himself and Odette are rocky…

And when things were finally coming around for her and Jess.

_He has to want you back._

The breeze stings like a sharp blade running against her skin.

She opens the door and sees Logan lying on the couch, remote in his hand, flipping through the channels on the tv. He turns when he hears the door. “Hey Ace. I was wondering when you’d get back. You hungry? I made dinner.”

That voice, so carefree and suave. Can talk her into doing anything.

He stands up and starts heading towards the kitchen but pauses when he sees her still in the doorway. “Rory?” he prompts.

The ice on her skin freezes in her eyes when she looks at him, and he balks from the gaze, his startled brown eyes wide with apprehension.

A sour taste grows on her tongue as she feels irritation build up and pry her mouth open. Finally, she asks him what she should have from the beginning. “Why are you here?”

He watches her another second before relaxing and resuming his walk to the kitchen. “I already told you that.”

“To spend time with Emmy?” she reiterates as he grabs the bottle of merlot from the fridge.

“Yeah. What’s the problem? What’s with the hostility?” He grabs two wine glasses from the cabinet.

“Just seems a little selfish to be spending time with your former mistress and illegitimate daughter when you’ve got a pregnant wife at home.”

The bottle slowly slips from his grasp and back onto the counter.

“Who told you?” he asks quietly.

“Grandma.”

“Nice to see she’s still got a loose enough lip to sink the Titanic.”

She swallows back her discomfort. “So it’s true? The affair?”

“Yes.”

She wants to scream. And maybe smash the bottle of wine over his head. “Is it yours?”

A pause. And then, “I don’t know…. Not that it matters.”

Rory recoils. “What does that mean? Is she not keeping it?”

“No, she is. But she’s not raising it with me.”

“Why?” she demands.

“Said there’s no point when I’m useless to the child I already have.”

And Rory’s bones grow cold. “Is that why you’re here? To prove to her that you can be a good father?” Dear God, what did she do?

Logan spins away from the counter. “No!” he shouts. “I know I was crap at showing it before, but I love Emmy. I always have.”

“Then why now?! You could have shown up any time in the last five years. Why are you here now?!” She needs to know. She needs to know that this entire thing has been about their daughter.

Logan looks at her and suddenly deflates, letting his defenses go. He sinks down onto the table and buries his head in his knees. “Everything’s gotten so messed up,” he moans out.

Truer words had never been spoken.

Rory slowly walks over and sits down next to him, placing her hand on top of his head.

Together they sit in the solace, until Logan’s head shoots up, his eyes red.

“Why didn’t you tell me before I got married?” he asks her.

She freezes.

“Why did you wait?” His voice cracks with regret.

Her mouth suddenly feels very dry. “Logan.” It comes out weak, pitiful.

“Did you not trust me? Did you think I wouldn’t be a good father?”

“No!” she yells, horrified by this sudden turn.

“Cause I would have married you. I would have moved here and bought a house and we would have raised her together.” His tone is sincere. Absolute.

“I know,” she whimpers. “But you would have lost everything else. I didn’t want to ruin anything for you.”

He laughs hauntingly as he throws his hands. “And yet, here we are. Everything’s ruined. Apparently, you can’t fight destiny.”

Tears are running down her face. “Logan, I’m sor—”

He cuts her off with a sharp turn of his face. His lips press against hers, desperate, insistent. She sits frozen in disbelief until she feels his hand on her waist. Then her hands jerk and push him away. She’s on her feet and into the living room in seconds. 

She stares at him, eyes bulging, chest heaving, her breaths quick and shallow. “You said…. You said that....”

“Rory,” he implores, his hands raised in front of his chest.

“No!” she yells, sobs threatening to burst out. “You said this was about Emmy! That you wanted to build a relationship with her!”

“It is! I do!” And she wants to believe him. Really she does, but…

“What does kissing me have to do with Emmy?!” she cries.

“Everything!”

“Oh God!” She starts pacing the floor. This can’t be happening. How did she get this all wrong?

Logan follows her. “I’m her dad, and I want to be here for her, and raise her, and I want to do it with you, like we should have, from the beginning.”

Rory stares back wide-eyed in disbelief, because really _this can’t be happening._ She did not push Jess away for nothing.

“And I’ll admit, it took me some time to grow up, but I’m ready now. I’m ready for this, for us.”

Rory feels like she’s been slapped. Because those words sound very familiar. “Don’t,” she pleads softly, her voice close to breaking.

“Marrying Odette was a mistake because I never loved her. I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“Logan please.”

“We can fix this. We can fix all of this. I’ll get a divorce and move here permanently.”

Past and present weave in and out of Rory’s mind as if it’s a mockingbird squawking at her. “Stop,” she implores. She needs him to stop.

“I’ll work at the Eagle or somewhere else if Dad disowns me, and you can work on your writing, and we’ll be together. We’ll be a family. You, me, Emmy. Together.”

_Look, we’ll go to New York. We’ll live together. We’ll work. It’s what I want! It’s what you want too! I know you do!_

“Please stop,” she sobs. Why is he throwing this in her face?

Logan grabs her hand, insistent. “I want this,” he says, his eyes boring into hers. “Emmy wants this. And isn’t this what you wanted? For me to be here? For us to be a family? For us to be together? I can do that now. I’m ready to do that now.”

_How cruelly sweet are the echoes that start when memory plays an old tune of the heart_

If there’s a god, he’s truly punishing her right now. “Stop,” she whispers a final time, dreading his next words.

He takes her hand in his and with his other, he pulls out a ring box. Rory breaks and the sobs flow freely from her mouth.

"Marry me, Ace,” he says gently, and Rory squeezes her eyes shut.

_Only say no if you really don’t want to be with me._

“No.”

*****

She keeps her eyes closed, unable to look at his face.

If she could curl inwards into herself until she disappeared, she would.

Eventually she feels him let go of her hand and step away.

It’s so quiet, she can hear his steps pacing against the carpet.

*****

“When did I lose you?”

The question takes her aback and she opens her eyes. Logan’s by the door looking at the floor.

“When I got married?”

Her throat feels too thick to speak. Still she tries, but all that comes out is a tiny squeak.

“Or before that, when I proposed the first time, when I gave you that ultimatum?”

She swallows the huge lump and tries again. “I don’t know,” she says brokenly.

He nods and turns to the door, his hand resting on the handle.

“The night I met Jess?” His voice is barely a whisper, but she’s able to hear him.

Slowly she raises her eyes and meets his. Wordlessly they stare, and their eyes speak the truths their mouths cannot. He blinks and pushes the door open.

She knows as he steps outside that she’ll never see him again, because Logan has never been one to compromise on what he wants, but desperately, for the sake of Emmy, she blurts out, “Are you picking Emmy up tomorrow?”

He freezes before the door shuts softly behind him.

She watches from the window as Logan looks back at the door, once, before walking to his car, and deep down Rory knows what his answer will be.

She falls asleep crying into her pillow that night, unrestrained, mourning the loss of dreams handmade in childhood.

*****

When she wakes up, it’s to a notification of a picture of Logan, landing in Heathrow Airport with the caption “There’s no place like home.”

*****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (peeks around the corner)
> 
> How ya doing?
> 
> I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. Happy ending coming in the final part, I swear. The angst is all I worth it. At least I hope it is.
> 
> Part 3 IS the final part, and I'm almost done with it. Fingers crossed it will actually only take a couple weeks to post, instead of the usual several months lololol.
> 
> Also, huge, huge thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos (over 100 on 1 chapter. That's insane!). It meant the world and helped give me an extra boost when I was so incredibly tired of writing. If you could be so kind as to do it again, please let me know how you liked this one with either a comment, kudo, bookmark, or subscribe.
> 
> Thanks again and until next!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Be miserable star-crossed lovers for the rest of your life."  
> "You're delightful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the final part ;)
> 
> Fair warning that there's a section at the end of the chapter that's really more Mature rated. However, I've decided not to change my rating just for one scene. If slight descriptions of sex make you feel uncomfortable, please stop reading at "She grins and shuts the door" and please continue at Epilogue.
> 
> Thank you and enjoy!

_Dead my old fine hopes_

_And dry my dreaming but still…_

_Iris, blue each spring_

_~ Shushiki_

* * *

The new year creeps in with the dawn, and Rory spends it in her bed. Every once in a while, her eyes flicker to the phone on her nightstand until her gaze retreats back to her covers. The blue melancholy she’s felt since fall has stripped down to the numbness of grey, as if she’s now an underpainting devoid of a masterpiece overlay.

How did she let it get this far?

How did she miss it?

How?

Heavy chains of regret drag her further into the covers as her phone rings beside her, unanswered.

*****

She hates him.

She hates his eyes, his nose, his laugh, the way he speaks.

She hates his attitude, his arrogant nonchalance, the way he drinks.

She hates his lackadaisicalness, his selfishness.

But most of all, she hates his effect on her.

That he’s a part of her.

And always will be.

Because of Emmy.

And now she’s truly ruined everything.

*****

She doesn’t hate Logan.

She hates herself.

For being this person.

For easily giving in.

For being too trusting.

For being thirty-nine and still naïve.

How did she not see it?

It was there.

The signs were right in front of her.

And worse, she’d already lived through this.

Seen it first-hand front and center.

She should have seen this.

How did she not?

Her phone buzzes. Again. She ignores it and pulls the blankets back over her head.

*****

Sleep bobs and weaves around her in an endless game of tag, always dodging her mind at the last second. Time seems like a mirage to her too, passing like feathers in the wind.

“Rory?”

She hears something, a voice faint in the background, a creak of the door. Footsteps muffled against the carpet.

She hears it again, and it sounds vaguely familiar. She wonders why.

“Rory? Babe? Are you here?”

Oh. Her mom.

“Honey, Lane called. Said she couldn’t get ahold of you.”

Her mom’s voice is clearer. She must be close. Sure enough, Lorelai opens the door and peeks her head in. “She wanted to know when you were coming to get…” she trails off. “Oh sweets,” she says empathetically.

Does she really look that bad? She brings a hand to her face as if reassuring herself it’s still there.

Lorelai steps in and shivers. “Geez it’s cold,” she says, rubbing her hands together. “Okay, Ada Blackjack, where’s that space heater?”

Cold. She hadn’t noticed.

She’s only partially aware of Lorelai rummaging through her closet.

“Aha!” her mom declares triumphantly as she brings out the black heater. Quickly she plugs it in and sits on the bed, waiting for it to warm up.

“Too bad we can’t bring the oven in here. That would warm this room up in no time.”

The oven? Oh right. They had done that before. Took out the shoes and huddled around it freshman year when the window was broken.

The morning after Jess came back and slept in his car.

“There,” her mom says. “Much better.”

The day before he said “I love you” and left again, not to be heard from for months.

“Give it a few minutes and it will be like the Sahara Desert in here. Well, without the sand.”

Until he came to her dorm room, the night of his mom’s wedding, and asked her to run away with him.

“Rory?”

Wait. Wedding?

She feels Lorelai’s hand running through her hair. “Honey, what happened?”

Asked?

She’s back in her living room two nights ago, listening to Logan’s attempt at persuasion.

She’s at Yale, trying to shut her ears off to Jess’ desperation.

She thought of the similarities as Logan pled his case, but now, it’s like cataracts have fallen from her eyes.

“He proposed,” she whispers, her bottom lip trembling.

No ring. Unplanned. Total spur of the moment.

Her mom stills. “Who? Logan? The married ex-boyfriend who’s Emmy’s father?”

But he meant it. She knows he did. _I knew the first moment I saw you two years ago._

Her mom gently shakes her. “Rory, talk to me.”

Completely unintentional. But earnest. Every word.

“Rory? Honey, say something. You’re scaring me.”

He proposed. And she…

“I said no,” she finally whispers.

And then slept with a married Dean.

She’s the lowest of the low.

For the first time in days she feels the trail of hot tears sliding down her cheeks. Lorelai cradles her to her side, and Rory lies against her, wishing the world would swallow her whole.

*****

When she’s finished, with tears rung out of her like an old dish cloth, she can’t feel her face. Or her hands. Or anything really.

She barely hears herself whisper, “I need to be alone right now.”

“Okay.” Her mom, the queen of understanding. “I’m gonna pick up Emmy and have her spend the night if that’s cool. You can pick her up in the morning.”

Emmy. Her sweet, sweet daughter. How is she going to tell her?

She feels Lorelai give her a gentle squeeze. “I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk,” she says, and then she’s gone, leaving Rory to the solemn solitude of her thoughts.

*****

She comes to again when the daylight’s gone, when stars are making their beds in the clouds.

She gazes to the empty spot beside her, allows yearning to fill her core until she’s reaching for her phone on reflex and calling him, all apologies ready on her tongue.

He doesn’t answer, and Rory feels another brittle piece of her heart break away as if it’s whispering _too late_.

*****

She wakes up much like the day before, numb to the new year and her present surroundings. Eventually though, the thought of Emmy jostles her out of her bed. She stands and almost immediately falls to her knees, weak and spinning with vertigo.

That’s right. She hasn’t eaten in three days.

She teeters over to the bathroom to shower and wash her face, but seeing her haggard appearance in the mirror, she falls.

It takes her a few hours to get off the tiled floor and get dressed, force a cup a coffee down, and walk out her house to go next door.

She’s still spinning a little, her steps uneasy in the crunchy snow. But she makes it up the stairs and into her childhood home.

And there on the couch is her daughter, with a wide smile for her.

“Mommy!”

She doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t deserve her. “Hey kiddo,” she whispers. Lorelai peeks her head in from the kitchen and gives her a smile. She tries to return it, but she thinks she fails.

Emmy runs over and holds her hand up high in the sky towards her face. “Mommy look! I got a blister!”

“How did you get that?” Rory asks, grabbing her hand gently and looking at the little palm. Sure enough, under the joint of her ring finger, there’s a puffy red circle.

“From playing the drums too long.”

Rory runs her finger over it. “Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Emmy nods and Rory releases her hand.

“Why are we so excited about the blister?”

“Cause it means I’m a real drummer!”

Slowly, Emmy’s exuberance is finding its way into her soul. “Oh yeah?” she asks with a small smile.

“Yup! Aunty Lane says only real drummers ever get blisters, and if I play them long enough, then I’ll get calusies. Callusisies. Calsicus.”

“Calluses.”

“Calluses.”

“Hmmm. I guess that means we need to stock up on some band-aids.”

“Yup!”

She pats Emmy on the head as the tiny blonde looks around her.

“Where’s Daddy?” Emmy asks, and Rory’s barely there smile slides back down. She doesn’t have the words, but she knows she has to tell her.

“Come on,” Rory says, pulling Emmy to sit on the couch.

When they’re situated, Rory takes a shaky a breath and turns to her. “Emmy,” she says slowly, “Mommy and Daddy had a fight.”

Emmy cocks her head. “A fight?”

“Yeah, we… we said some things and… it didn’t end well.”

There’s a small crease of confusion on Emmy’s forehead, and Rory hates herself, _truly_ , but she forces the words out of her mouth. “He’s gone, babe. He went back to London.”

“Oh.” Emmy droops into the couch and god, what did she do?

“I’m so sorry,” Rory tries, putting her hand on her shoulder. “This is all my fault. Mommy messed up. But know that he loves you, okay? That’ll never change.” She’s sniffling by the time she finishes.

Emmy stays quiet a moment, and Rory screams inside her head because _really_ she should have seen this. But she stops when Emmy turns to her with a hopeful look in her eyes. “Does this mean Uncle Jess can come back?”

The unanswered phone call from last night makes her think no because she’s really fucked everything up, but not wanting to crush her daughter or herself anymore for today, she forces her lips back up and replies, “I hope so. I’m gonna see, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You want to go to Luke’s with Mimi? Get some pancakes and bacon?”

“Yes!”

It’s not enough to push away the self-loathing, but seeing Emmy smile like this at least gives Rory hope that soon, things will get back to the normal they’re used to.

*****

The new year comes and goes like a snapshot that he forgets to save. The only reason he knows it passed is because Truncheon’s getting ready to print _Hardened as Glass,_ and his roommates won’t shut up about it.

And because he had a missed call from Rory.

Or rather, he just didn’t answer it.

He figures if he’s going to start the new year off on a different foot, it has to start with not answering every single one of her calls.

Still though, he feels a little guilty, missing both holidays without a word to either of the Gilmore girls. Granted, he had a pretty good excuse with the Dick practically draped all over them, but he could have at least said hi. Or sent a present.

He had Emmy’s all ready to go, bought after the one phone call he and Rory had shared months ago: the complete collection of Nancy Drew with the original 64 stories, as well as all 124 paperbacks of the Nancy Drew Files.

And he would have sent it. Really. But he didn’t have anything for Rory. And he didn’t want to send a huge present like that without one for her, so he refrained, at least until he had something to give her.

The three Truncheon guys and Keller stand around the old printing press as if offering a chant to the literature god above.

He’s not so sure Matt’s not doing so right now. He nudges him in the side.

“Give me a minute,” Matt mutters, still staring down. “I’m trying to soak this all in.”

Keller lets out a chuckle as Chris rolls his eyes and grabs the newly printed and bound book off the press.

“Hey!” Matt yells.

“Enough, weirdo.”

Chris looks at the book in his hand for a moment before offering it to the author. “Here.”

Keller takes it with a smile and runs his hand over the cover. When he looks back up, he gives a slight smirk. “One down, only 999,999 more to go.”

Matt lets out a whoop at that, and Jess just shakes his head.

They finish the first hundred copies over the weekend, working quickly and efficiently. Jess mans the paper, Matt the letter placement, and Chris, ever the artist, binds the book after the pages are printed.

Keller stands off to the side while chiming in offers of his help, but Jess turns him down.

“Let us feel like we do some work every once in awhile. Besides, you already did the hard part.”

“Surprisingly wasn’t that hard this time,” Keller says with a smirk. Jess huffs out a laugh and loads more paper into the machine.

At the end of the weekend, they box up the books and break out the champagne. When it’s time for a toast, Keller just lifts up his glass and looks at each of them solemnly.

“Thank you,” he says, with a tip of his head.

Jess just smirks. “Keller, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“I agree,” Chris cuts in. “Now what do you say we hurry up and finish so we can start making some money?”

“Here, here!” Matt cheers.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Future Pulitzer, here we come.”

They quickly down the last of the bottle and gather their things. As they reach the door, Matt claps Keller on the back. “Let us know when you get your next idea.”

Keller smiles. “Will do.” He pauses and reaches into his satchel thrown over his shoulder and pulls out three books. “Here,” he says, holding them outstretched to the three of them.

Chris waves him off. “Nah man. Besides, it’s hard to make some money when you’re just giving the books away.”

Keller just holds them steady. “I signed them for you.”

“Oh, twist my arm.”

Matt gapes in delight as he takes one. “My own signed Damien Keller,” he whispers in awe.

Jess rolls his eyes and gives Matt a slight shove. “Ignore him,” he says to Keller, taking the last copy.

Keller grins and holds out his hand. “Jess.”

Jess looks at it for a moment before he smiles and takes it. “Keller.”

“If you ever need a fellow fan to look over anything.”

“If I can actually get something down, I may just take you up on that.”

They share another smile, like secrets between kinship, before releasing hands, and Keller turns away. Jess thinks of the past year, of their similarities and editing sessions, of sharing advice and good news, of first meetings and birthday parties, and he realizes what he wants to give Rory.

“Actually,” he pipes up, stopping Keller in the doorway. He holds up his copy of the book. “Can I get one more?”

*****

As the new year settles into a familiar rhythm, Rory finds herself increasingly busy with the sequel as she brings it to a close. Not that she’s proud of it. The whole thing now seems to lack polish, and the novelty of publishing another book has worn off.

No. She knows it’s because Jess still hasn’t come back.

She’s called him again, but she’s been met with more silence, and Rory doesn’t know what she can do to fix things, or even if they can even be fixed. The more she thinks about their relationship, both past and present, the more she feels like she’s taken him, and his feelings, for granted, as if his presence in her life would always be a certainty, thanks to the bond between their families.

She forgot that the only certainty is uncertainty _._

She has a meeting with Janice around the 15th of January. She leaves Stars Hollow that early Wednesday morning for New York, and when she sits down in Janice’s high-rise office, she doesn’t even let Janice say hello before she blurts out, “I know it sucks.”

Janice chuckles. “It doesn’t suck. It just lacks the… same eloquence of the first one.”

“Meaning it sucks.”

Janice just gives her an exasperated look.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs as the agent sits down.

“How are things going with you?” Janice asks.

“Fine.”

“Freaked out, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. Yes, I can see that.”

“Janice.”

“You want to talk about it?”

There’s an edge in Janice’s voice that makes Rory a little wary. “Am I in trouble?” she asks, leaning slightly back in her chair.

“I wouldn’t say trouble per se,” Janice starts with a twirl of a pen, “but we are coming down to the wire. I talked with Cheryl, and she says we’ve a got a couple weeks before it really needs to head to the copyeditors.”

“A couple weeks.” That’s barely anything.

“Rory, it’s not bad,” Janice says soothingly from across the desk. “In fact, the first half is great, so the book is still good. It’s still publishable. Should sell plenty of copies. But,” she pauses, holding Rory’s gaze, “if you wanted to add anything in these latter chapters to jazz it up, now is the time.”

Rory just nods in understanding. Of course the first half is good. She still had Jess then.

Janice gives her a sympathetic look. “You sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay then. Try to have a final copy in by the end of the month, and in the meantime,” she opens her top left drawer and pulls out an envelope, “I’ve got something that should cheer you up.”

Rory takes the envelope in curiosity and opens it. She freezes.

It’s an invitation. To Truncheon. To Damien Keller’s book launch party.

(To Jess.)

She looks back up at Janice, the question “how?” on her tongue, and her agent’s smiling at her. “Damien Keller’s a friend,” she says as an explanation.

Rory feels a tinge of warmth in her chest as she looks back down at the invitation.

This is it. This is her chance. Her redemption.

She drives back to Stars Hollow in lighter spirits, making it back into town around two. But as she approaches her house, her chest squeezes because almost the entirety of Stars Hollow is in front of her house.

Her worst fears start attacking her mind. Emmy climbed on the roof of the house and fell. Lorelai had a heart attack and died. There was a fire and Emmy burnt to a crisp. Someone broke into their house. 

Her imagination grows rampant, but as she gets out of the car, she sees her house is fine, and her mom is holding Emmy at the front of the crowd, a phone in the other, amusement clearly showing on her face. She takes a second look and notices the lack of ambulances and fire trucks. There’s a single squad car, and she recognizes it as Officer Coop’s.

Feeling her heart rate go back to normal, Rory walks forward and peeks her head around Bootsie at the back of the crowd. But before she can really get a good look, suddenly she gets a face full of blonde curls. She sputters and hears Babette in front of her. “There you are, sugar! We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I had a meeting in New York today,” she says cautiously as Babette seems to vibrate in front of her. “What’s going on?” she asks suspiciously. Her worst fears are already rejected, but there’s something in Babette’s tone that puts her back on edge. It gets worse as Miss Patty walks over and joins them.

The redhead (once again) has a canary smile a mile long, and Rory just knows she’s in trouble.

“Rory dear, you’ve got a package,” Miss Patty says in a sultry tone.

“Please don’t tell me it’s a stripper.”

“No, the box is too little for that, though it’s certainly big enough for something.” She winks at her, and Rory furrows her brows in confusion.

She looks back over the crowd, finding a small opening near her mom and Emmy that shows Luke, Taylor, and Officer Coop huddled around a very large box. Huh.

She walks over, and Emmy lights up when she sees her. “Mommy!”

“Hey sweets,” she says, placing a kiss on her head. She gives Lorelai a hug as well and then whispers, “What’s going on?”

“You got a package.”

“I can see that. What is it?”

Lorelai shrugs. “Got no clue.”

“Why aren’t they opening it?”

“There’s no sender, so Taylor doesn’t want to risk it until it’s been meticulously checked out by Coop.”

Rory blinks. “What? Why?”

“Well apparently Kirk saw a van drive over, with someone opening the back door and just pushing the box out right next to the mailbox before driving away.”

“Seriously?”

“I managed to get Luke over here to try and get it inside, but whatever’s in there is really heavy, like the great pyramids of Egypt heavy, and Luke couldn’t carry it.”

“A box Luke couldn’t carry it?” Rory faux gasps and turns back to the scene.

“Yeah, it’s no Bert.”

“That’s a toolbox.”

“What can I say? They just don’t make them like they used to,” Lorelai says, shaking her head before pointing to the crowd. “And then Kirk brought the merry gang along.”

“I see.” Rory watches in amusement as the three stooges yell over the box of mjölnir before calmly walking over. “Hey Luke,” she says, giving him a side hug.

Luke just frowns. “Rory, would you please tell the totalitarian here that your mail is nothing to get worked up about, and that we’re going to open it?” he growls.

“We can’t do that, Luke, until we ensure the safety of the entire town is intact.”

“What do you think is in here, Taylor?!?!?!”

“We don’t know, Luke. Therefore, we have to exercise reasonable precautions to make sure our sanctity of life isn’t threatened in any way.”

“Or all of you could just leave and let me open the damn box in peace!”

Taylor waves him off and looks to Officer Coop. “Now how long until Hartford PD gets here with the dogs?”

Coop looks at his watch as Luke grows increasingly red in the face. “Should be about another 15 minutes.”

“We are not bringing another police department to handle one freaking box, Taylor!”

Rory grins and she thinks Luke is quickly reaching his limit for the town lunacy.

Taylor doesn’t seem to notice. “Well of course we are, Luke. Our staff doesn’t have the resources to handle something like this.”

She starts a countdown. 5…4….3….2…

“ARGH, I’ve had enough of this!” The crowd gasps as Luke brandishes his pocket knife while she and Lorelai quickly try to stifle their giggles.

Even Taylor’s looking shocked. “Whoa, whoa!” he cries with his hands up.

Coop slowly brings his hand to the holster on his hips. “Luke, I’m gonna have to ask you to put the knife down.”

“NO! This entire thing is ridiculous!”

“Now, now, Luke—”

“Shut up, Taylor!! I’m opening this thing!” Luke goes to slice the tape as Taylor reaches an arm out to stop him.

“No! We have to wait for Hartford PD.”

Luke just looks at her. “Rory?”

The entire crowd stills and waits for an answer. She smiles and says, “Open the box.”

She hears the anguished and disappointed groans as Luke slices the tape.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Taylor. It’s just books,” Luke says, lifting one of them out of the box. It’s yellow with blue writing and a large picture of a redhead on the front, and Rory literally just has the chance to comprehend the title before she hears her daughter yell behind her, “Nancy!!!”

Emmy scrambles down Lorelai and runs over to immediately start pulling books out. She pulls out one, and another, and another, and another, and another and Rory slowly realizes that the entire collection of Nancy Drew is in that box. And when Emmy starts pulling out smaller white paperbacks, she realizes her hunch is only slightly correct, it’s not just the original series but also the less popular files collection too.

“Mommy look!” Emmy squeals.

Lorelai sniggers at Luke’s increasing frown. “Honey, I think we’re gonna need a lot more shelves,” she says as she elbows him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Luke mutters.

“Kill who?”

Rory doesn’t need an answer because she already knows.

“Jess,” she whispers. He remembered. Maybe things weren’t as bad as she thought.

“Jess?” her mother questions before she nods. “Yeah, that makes sense. No one else would send that many books. Well, aside from you, of course.”

Luke shakes his head. “All this for some freaking books. Even when he’s not here he’s driving me crazy.”

“There’s one for you, Mommy,” Emmy interrupts and Rory turns, staring at the brown packaging in her daughter’s hand.

Her hand trembles slightly as she takes it.

“What is it, sugar?” Babette pipes in from the back, reminding them they still had a crowd.

Luke immediately tries to rectify it. “All right, that’s enough, nothing to see here.”

“Oh, come on, Luke. We’re just trying to see her present.”

“It’s a book, obviously.”

“Ah, but which one?” Miss Patty croons.

“Yes,” Andrew says in assent. “Title is very important.”

“Hardened as Glass,” Lorelai reads as Rory removes the wrapper.

“Never heard of it.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“See? Just a boring book. Now let’s go.”

The residents of Stars Hollow grumble their dissent as they start walking towards the square.

Rory continues to stare at the hardcover in her hands. Boring? No, Luke couldn’t be further from the truth.

Lorelai must see the reverent face she’s making because she nudges her. “What is it?”

“It’s his book.”

“Whose? Jess?”

Rory shakes her head. “Damien Keller’s. The one that Jess has been editing.”

“Wow, didn’t they just start that book? They’re done already?”

“I guess so.” She traces her fingers across the title before she cracks the book open to the cover page.

It’s signed.

Jess got her a signed copy.

Her eyes well up as she brings the book to her lips. It might not be his own, or even hand delivered, but it’s significant nonetheless.

It’s enough.

Lorelai doesn’t say anything else, perhaps recognizing the somberness of the gesture, and Rory’s grateful. This is a moment just for her (and Jess).

Once everyone has dispersed, and they’ve carried all the books inside to Emmy’s bedroom floor (Lorelai wasn’t kidding about the shelves), Rory pulls out her cellphone and dials Jess’ number.

_It’s Jess. You know what to do._

Her heart sinks as she hears those words, but she needs to say something, especially after the gift. The least she can do is tell him thank you.

“Hey,” she begins, her throat already scratchy.

She swallows and tries again. “It’s me.” Better, but now she’s out of words.

“I just wanted… I just wanted to say…” Her throat feels thick and her nose is starting to run. God, she misses him. She wipes her eyes and decides to keep it short and sweet.

“I got the book. Thank you.”

_Beep._

Rory slowly pulls the phone from her ear and hangs up before rubbing her face in her hands.

*****

He visits Stars Hollow for the only second time in six months, and already he’s on edge.

He knows it’s because of Rory. Or rather the guilt and longing that comes with knowing her.

Guilt because of his mistakes, old and new, of the way he’s been ignoring her on the phone lately. He tells himself that he has to, in order to truly move on, to give himself a chance at this change he’s making.

And guilt brings along longing, like it’s a shadow that he can never cut away.

Especially now as he drives these streets to the back of town where Liz and TJ live. There’s the path that leads to their bridge. The gas pump where he kissed Rory and sparked the beginning of their teenaged relationship. The tree where Emmy’s balloon got stuck on her birthday, and she begged him until he climbed up and retrieved it.

He drives faster in hopes to outrun the ghosts of years long past, and soon he finds himself in front of the gaudy purple door of his mother’s home.

Doula answers. “Wrong house,” she says before promptly shutting the door in his face.

Yeah, so he might have a little bit of work to do in repairing this relationship.

He rings the doorbell again. She opens it, her face in a scowl.

He gives her a quick turn of his lips. “Hey Doules.”

She looks at him completely flat, and inwardly he winces.

He runs a hand through his hair. “Can I come in?” he asks meekly.

She stares another minute before letting go of the door. “Sure thing, Fredo.”

Okay, so he might have a _lot_ of work to do.

He walks in and feels the familiar revulsion to the bright and mismatched décor. Tie-dye and sparkles and beaded curtains still make him feel like he’s stepped back into the seventies while on an acid trip.

He follows Doula through the living room into the dining room where the table is all set with turkey legs, potato salad, and green bean casserole. Since he missed Christmas, Liz incessantly called him for a month until he agreed to do a repeat dinner with the family, and now, here he was. TJ waves from his seat, and Doula slumps down in hers, her head buried in her phone. Liz is nowhere to be found.

He looks at TJ and he says “Bathroom.”

Okay then. He takes a seat in the middle of the table next to Doula and waits. After a few minutes of attempting a conversation – Doula wants no part of his company, and he’s thinking he might really need something big this time, like backstage passes to a Halsey concert – he gives up and tries to wait patiently for Liz.

The looks TJ keeps sending him is raising his hackles.

Ten more minutes pass, in which Doula got in a few snarky comments, and Jess is really feeling like he’s exploding out of his skin.

He feels TJ’s eyes on him again, and if Liz doesn’t get down here soon, he’s thinking she might not have a husband by the time she gets down here.

“TJ, if you want your eyes to remain 20/20, tell ‘em they should mind their own business.”

TJ blinks owlishly at him. “What?”

“Stop looking at me,” he hisses, and TJ shrinks back. “It’s creeping me out.”

“He’s worried about Mom.”

It’s the first civil thing Doula’s said to him all day, and he turns in surprise. “Why?”

“He thinks she’s been acting weird.”

Weird for Liz? He doesn’t even know if that’s possible. “How?”

Father and daughter share a quiet look. Jess sees it, and irritation from the day couples with concern.

“TJ? Doula?” he asks, looking between them. “What’s going on?”

TJ hesitantly brings his face up to look at Jess. “When you were,” he starts. “I mean when you guys… when you lived in New York, did you…” He looks away as he stumbles over his words.

He doesn’t need TJ to say anything else.

He sees the fear in his stepfather’s eyes, the nervousness as he scratches the back of his head. And he feels it too. Along with a kind of resigned disappointment. It had been over twenty years, but eventually all addicts find themselves facing a relapse.

He nods and quietly says, “Doula, go to your room.”

“No.” Her answer is steely, and Jess struggles to keep his voice even.

“What?”

“My absentee brother doesn’t get to just walk back into the family and make demands.”

“I am not making demands.”

“There wasn’t a question there.”

He sighs. One point for Doula. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Would you please go to your room so me and TJ can talk?”

“No.”

Jess suddenly feels the urge to rip that phone out of her hands and throw it. “Why?” he growls out, a little edgier than he maybe intended.

“Cause she’s my mom too,” she says, finally looking up to stare at him evenly. “I should be able to hear anything you’re going to talk about.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

“Well that’s how it’s going to start working,” she says with eyebrows raised in challenge. “I’m not a kid anymore. Besides I already know about it. I learned it in school. Plus, we live in Stars Hollow, remember?”

Know about it? He really wants to laugh. Bitterly. “No, you don’t know, Doula.”

“Yes I do!” she shouts back, and his head rears back. He’s really, _really,_ not liking the attitude.

She ignores his steely gaze. “I know Mom used to be a drunk,” she says, and Jess does his best to bite his tongue.

She continues, “That you guys lived in bad apartments across New York. That Mom had trouble holding a job and paying for things, so she always had to go to Uncle Luke for help.” Her voice steadily rises in volume, and Jess can feel his control slipping a bit as she hits him with muddled facts about his life. He starts glaring without even realizing it.

“I also know that she had to send you here when you were sixteen ‘cause you kept fucking up and making her life miserable!”

TJ darts his face between the two, looking really uncomfortable. “Uh, guys? Maybe we should –”

“Oh yes. Liz’s favorite pastime,” Jess mocks as he rolls his eyes. “I was just a kid that ruined her life. Can’t forget that.”

“Mom didn’t tell me that.”

That surprises him, just a little.

“Aunt Carrie did.”

And there goes the surprise.

“She told me all about how bad you were as a kid, all the fighting, the stealing, the drinking—” his mouth sours as angry bile enters it, “—so do me a favor and spare me the condescending _crap_ because I know all about it!”

She finishes and he knows it’s not Doula, not really. But after everything he’s dealt with the past year, as if the gods above are throwing him around for sport, as if nothing he’s ever done has truly amounted to anything when he keeps winding back in the same place, he can’t stop the anger that boils under his skin, begging to be released.

He leans across the table and the words are out of him before he knows it. “Really? So you know all about her cooking meth instead of food in the kitchen? How it would give the apartment a really sickly smell that made me throw up constantly when I was actually there?”

Doula flinches at his admission, but it’s not enough.

“Or how she’d space out for days on the couch, so high she wouldn’t even know it when her boyfriends hit her or me?

She stares at him with wide eyes, and there’s the briefest of moments where he thinks that he should stop. That maybe he’s crossing a line. But there’s no bridling his tongue now, as if it’s been waiting his entire life to speak these truths.

“Or when we did have money, she’d go for something a little harder like coke, and she’d be so high she’d disappear for weeks at a time, leaving a seven-year-old kid to fend for himself?”

“Jess,” TJ says, looking horrified, but Jess can’t care. There’s a release with every word that leaves his mouth.

“And all of that was while living in the worst parts of New York where gangs like the Latin Kings and the Westies were too busy having turf wars to care about where the next bullet might hit, in areas where even the cops were too afraid to come, so you had to figure out how to fend for yourself and survive, otherwise you’d be dead in the gutter or the East River before you were even sixteen. You know about all that?”

“That’s enough!” TJ grabs his arm and yanks him back and into himself.

Jess blinks, resettles, and freezes when he sees Doula. She’s frozen in front of him, eyes wide with brimmed tears and her jaw loosened.

He swallows the hard lump that’s suddenly at the back of his throat. “Doules,” he tries softly.

She pushes herself away from the table and leaves, and Jess feels the knot of guilt in his chest tangle even further.

Before he can get up and follow, Liz comes into the dining room.

“What’s with all the shouting?”

He doesn’t answer. He instead he gauges her, sees the red eyes, the splotchy cheeks.

“Jess?” she prompts. “TJ? What’s going—”

He cuts her off. “Where were you?”

She gives a wave. “Just using the restroom. Now who’s ready for dinner? I’m starving. TJ, can you get Doula?”

Deflection. His eyes narrow, and he stares at the stairs.

Liz pauses before she takes a seat. “Jess?”

He stares at the stairs until his hand shakes, and then he springs into action. He’s gone from the table and up the stairs in a matter of seconds.

He hears footsteps behind him as he reaches the bathroom, and then TJ’s voice. “I checked the medicine cabinet already, but I didn’t see anything.”

“She wouldn’t hide it there.” Jess’ eyes narrow on the toilet and he goes straight to the lid and lifts it. There’s a sealed bag submerged in the water, and Jess feels like he’s been crushed under a rock of disappointment.

He hears Liz enter behind them and is quick to whirl around, the bag in his hand.

“What’s this?”

Liz just gives him a sad look. “Baby, it’s not what you think, I promise.”

“Really?”

“Jess—”

He tears the bag open and shakes the contents into his palm.

A single object slides out. A ring.

A ring?

“Huh.”

He’s never been one to understand Liz’s eccentricities, but this one would be close to the top of the list.

He holds the silver piece of jewelry up.

“Why do you have this in the toilet?” he asks, completely confused. TJ, for once in his life, mirrors him.

“To keep it safe,” she replies.

“But it’s a ring.”

“It’s precious metal, baby. A little water’s not gonna hurt it.”

“That’s not—” he cuts himself off with an exasperated sigh. “Did you steal it?”

“No, baby!” Liz yells, clearly affronted.

“Then—"

“It was my mom’s. Your grandmother’s.”

Jess’ face goes slack. “Oh.”

“Dad gave it to her as an engagement ring,” Liz explains.

He bows his head and looks back at it. He reckons it’s an aquamarine, set in deco style, though he’s no expert at jewels. He’s just maybe had to look at engagement rings once.

The stone in the middle keeps luring him in, and he can’t put his finger on why.

Liz pipes in again. “He wanted one that matched her eyes. The color was a little off though. Too light.”

He freezes when he realizes why the blue is so familiar. He swallows hard and slides the ring in the bag, handing it back to Liz. “Sorry for doubting you. They said you were acting weird. Made them a little worried.” He moves past her to head back downstairs.

“You’re worrying me.” Her whisper stops him in the doorway.

He slowly turns. “What?”

She stares at him sorrowfully. “Luke told me about the drinking.”

Jess grows cold at her statement. _What. The. Fuck._

 _Family? What a joke coming from you._ He’s thinking he might need to throw that back in Luke’s face now.

“I made him tell me,” she continues. “You know how I can be. I just, I didn’t know why you weren’t answering your phone.”

He softens. Slightly. Because if anyone knows what a pain Liz can be, it’s him. “I can’t answer my phone all the time, Liz. I have work, responsibilities—”

“Luke and Doula said they couldn’t reach you either. And you missed Christmas.”

He knows he has no answer for that. She places a hand on his shoulder, and he resists the urge to throw her hand off.

“I never really had to worry about you when you were growing up, you know? You were always so smart, so resourceful. You had a certain strength I lacked that I just felt you wouldn’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“I’m not, Liz.”

“Really? The drinking after the break-up sounds pretty close.”

He swallows. “There wasn’t a break-up,”

“Oh honey,” she says, looking at him sadly. “Everyone already knows about Logan.”

“That’s not what I –" his voice gets a little louder, and he stops to take a deep breath. He tries again. “Rory and I weren’t dating.” Better.

“Carrie said she saw you coming out of their house often in the mornings.”

Of course she did. No one in Stars Hollow can mind their own business. “I was babysitting Emmy.”

“Luke mentioned something about making breakfast.” Or keep their freaking mouth shut!

“It’s the Gilmores!” he shouts because the last conversation he wants to have with his mom is this one. “Have you ever seen them cook a day in your life?”

She just looks at him with pity. “Baby, pancakes are never just breakfast.”

Yup. That’s it. He’s done. “I’m not discussing this with you,” he snaps as he races down the stairs.

“Have you tried talking to her?”

“I said, I’m not discussing it!”

“Jess—”

“Tell Doula I said bye.”

“Jess, baby, wait!” She reaches for him as he makes it to the front door.

“What?!” he yells, whirling around.

“I just… I just want to see you happy.”

He sighs and forces himself to calm down. “I am happy, Liz. I like my life.” For the most part. At least the nonromantic side.

“Okay, I believe you. But I also want to see you settle down someday. Maybe get to meet some grandkids.”

“That’s not some requirement for happiness. Not everyone’s like you.”

“I know that. I know we don’t share that much in common. That you’re a bit more like Luke and Jimmy. But even they found someone to share their life with.”

Lucky them, he snarks in his head. But it’s not their fault he’s wired this way. Well, he amends, maybe Luke’s fault. Just a bit.

“It just seems cruel that after everything, I’m the one that ends up sober and happy, and you’re…”

And there it is. “Bye, Liz.”

“Wait! Wait!”

He hates that he stops for her. He doesn’t turn around though.

She places the bagged ring into his hand and he recoils. “Take it. I was planning on giving it to you anyway.”

“Liz, I don’t—”

“Take it,” she states firmly.

He closes his hand softly around the bag.

“Maybe make a girl happy with it someday,” she says with a sad smile. “And if not, then give it to Doula when she’s older.”

She heads back inside.

He stands there on the porch, staring at his hand until he slides the bag into his pocket. And then he sighs and follows his mom back inside. He did promise dinner after all.

*****

Doula skips the meal, and TJ glares at him until he leaves the table and heads to her room down the hallway.

He knocks softly on her door.

“Doules?” he calls softly. He hears a slight rustle on the bed.

“Can I come in?”

She doesn’t answer but he cracks the door anyways and peeks his head in. She’s curled up on the bed, rubbing at her nose.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that. I’ve been on edge lately and you just… pushed my button a little bit.”

She sniffs. “I hear little sisters are really good at that.”

“You might have heard right.”

“Was all that true?” The fear’s evident in her voice, and Jess know he has to take it away somehow.

“Nah,” he lies. “Just wanted to scare you a little bit.” He sits down on the edge of the bed and pats her knee.

“Liar,” she whispers.

He must really _really_ be losing his touch.

“Everything makes more sense now,” she says. “How distant you are with Mom. How you always seem agitated whenever you’re here.”

“That’s not—”

“I have eyes,” she cuts him off before looking back at her hands. “Besides, it’s never like that when I see you in Philly.”

He can’t argue with that. “Yeah….”

She pats the bed beside her and he lies down, his feet dangling off the ends of the mattress. They lay side by side quietly for a few minutes.

“How do you not hate her?”

“Therapy.” It’s a joke, but also not. She chuckles softly, and he takes her hand.

“There were times,” he gives her a gentle squeeze, “usually when she was sober, when things were good. And, even when I’d be really mad, I guess a part of me understood why she was the way she was. Things got better when she met TJ though.” He nudges her, “And had you.”

She swallows. “Do you hate me?”

“No. Never.”

“Resent me?”

He frowns. “Of course not.”

“I think I’d resent me.”

“That’s because you can’t see how awesome you are.”

“Ditto.”

“Really?” he asks with an eyebrow arched. “Cause it didn’t seem like you felt that way an hour ago.”

“I was mad.”

He softens. “I know.”

“I don’t like it when you go incognito.”

He might need to rethink his coping habits a bit more.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

He squeezes her hand again. “I missed you too.”

“For what it’s worth, I think Rory’s an idiot.”

He freezes beside her.

“I have eyes,” she states.

“And all of Stars Hollows’, apparently,” he mutters.

“And their ears.” She smirks, and he pokes her in her side.

After a few minutes of silence, he turns his head to look at her. “We good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Good.” He gives her another gentle squeeze and stands up, walking for her door.

She calls out to him when he gets to the doorway. “Jess?”

He turns. “Yeah?”

“Thanks for being my brother. Even if you are pain in the ass lately.”

He quirks his lips. “Anytime.”

*****

She turns in her manuscript for _Gilmore Girls: Emmy and Me_ as the January snow melts in preparation for the beginning of spring. She spends the first days of February selecting type-fonts and book covers, agreeing to interviews, and finalizing any last-minute details for the release party in April.

Despite the excitement and bustle of publishing another book, her release party only has her thinking of another one, scheduled the same weekend as Valentine’s Day, and Rory would normally take that as a very good sign, but again, she still can’t get Jess on the phone. At all.

She hasn’t heard from him since that one phone call at the beginning of November, well aside from the presents that is, and what she initially thought was a way of reconnecting, she now thinks it might mean something else.

Like goodbye. A simple bookend to their relationship. After all, their story started with her receiving a book full his margin notes. What better way to end it than with another, his notes silently amongst the prose, as if saying _look at what you gave up_? His notes in her margins.

She feels sick whenever she thinks about it.

She finds some comfort in Lane though, who she visits the week before Keller’s book launch.

“It’s like senior year all over again,” Rory groans as she plops down onto the couch, Emmy already plunking away upstairs. “Except, I can’t even be mad about it because I pushed him away this time.”

Lane sits beside her on the couch, a sympathetic look on her face. “He really hasn’t called back?”

“I think he hates me now.”

“That’s impossible.”

“And who could blame him?”

“Stop.”

“I mean I just keep picking someone else over him every time. First Dean—”

“Everyone would have picked Dean over Jess in high school.”

“Not you,” Rory corrects with a tilt of her head. “You’ve always been Team Jess.”

Lane looks clearly affronted. “I have not!”

“Okay Miss ‘agoraphobic couple.’”

“I still stand by that by the way.”

“Miss ‘runaway from Yale and be with me’ is romantic.”

“That _was_ one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard.”

Rory swallows a lump full of remorse, cause since New Year’s, her perspective over that event had changed significantly.

“Okay, so maybe I was Team Jess a little bit,” Lane continues as she shifts on the couch, “but I’ve always been Team Rory, and in high school he didn’t really treat you right. And I distinctly remember a few times where I tore into him for it. Like buying a new car after crashing yours and dating that girl… what was her name?”

“Shane,” Rory replies with a grimace.

“Now see? That face. That’s exactly why you shouldn’t feel too bad about choosing Dean at first.”

“And Logan?”

Lane winces. “Yeah, sorry, you’re on your own on that one.”

“Gee thanks.”

“To be honest, I never saw the appeal. I was actually surprised when you told me you liked him because he was exactly like the kind of guy we always used to make fun of. Rich, lazy, conceited, the kind of guy that had no qualms about throwing his wealth and privilege in people’s faces. And…” Lane trails off, peering curiously at Rory.

Rory bites her lip. “And?”

“You changed with him a bit. He had a certain kind of influence that seemed to encourage you to do things you normally wouldn’t do.”

Rory can only nod because really, there’s no arguing with that. She knows it to be true too.

“Well,” Lane amends after a pause, “in a way, you kind of did that with all of them. I mean, you had the affair with Dean, and Logan too. Stole the yacht with Logan and dropped out of school. And you had skipped school to see Jess.”

Rory doesn’t like the thoughtful look on Lane’s face. “But?” she hesitantly asks.

“But with Jess, it seemed like he was the one that just wanted you to be yourself. The other two felt like they wanted to change you into someone that would fit what they wanted. Jess just seemed to only want you.”

 _Only want you._ The words burn through her like wildfire, and before Rory knows it, she’s crying.

“Sorry,” Lane says as she looks away. “That probably doesn’t help.”

“No,” Rory chokes out. “You’re right. And all I’ve done is screw everything up.” She wipes her cheeks.

“Well, in your defense, he screwed it up first.”

She lets out a haunting laugh. “I think we both screwed it up first, Lane.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Rory stumbles for a specific answer until she remembers Lane’s comment. “Take Shane for instance. Would he have even dated her if I had contacted him that summer in DC? If I had told him then that I wanted to be with him?”

Lane nods with understanding. “Probably not. He hadn’t shown any interest in her before that summer.”

“We both messed up. I didn’t trust him, always seeing Dean as this safer choice and wondering if I made a mistake letting him go—”

“I remember.”

“And in turn, he couldn’t trust me, and then he left and hurt me, and then I hurt him, and now it’s just this giant tangled web of hurt emotions.”

“Then get to unraveling, Charlotte.”

“I can’t if he won’t even pick up the phone and talk to me.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem,” Lane agrees. “Any ideas?”

“No. If I had, we probably wouldn’t even be here right now.”

“Got any more devilled eggs?”

She can’t help the chuckle that falls from her lips. God that had felt good.

“Actually…” Lane says, stilling for a moment, “maybe we should ask Luke.”

Rory perks up in confusion. “Luke? Why?”

“Well, he talks to Luke, right? How does Luke get him to open up?”

“Usually Luke annoys him until he spits something out.”

As Lane’s eyes grow bright, Rory fervently shakes her head. “Lane, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t. Besides, it’s different. Luke’s his uncle. I’m just—”

“The woman he loves?”

Rory swallows her words back down her throat.

Lane stares at her a minute more before giving an exasperated sigh. “Okay fine. Don’t annoy him. Be miserable star-crossed lovers for the rest of your lives.”

“You’re delightful,” she snarks as Lane leans back into the couch.

“I honestly have no idea how you’ve made it this far with the way you guys tiptoe around each other.”

“Well we wouldn’t have if Jess didn’t keep popping in… and out… of my life… unexpectedly…” She turns to Lane with wide eyes as a crazy idea hits her.

Lane looks back looking much the same, a wide smile growing on her face. “That’s it!” she exclaims.

“What?” Rory questions, both scared and exhilarated at the possibility of… “No.”

Lane states it anyways. “You’re going to Philly.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Rory scrambles her brain for a reason. “Emmy for one.”

“Your mom or I could watch her.”

“I… he won’t want to see me.”

“How do you know?”

“I—”

Lane interrupts her by getting off the couch and grabbing her purse and jacket.

“Lane, stop,” she says, trying to get her attention. She stands as well. “This is crazy. He won’t want to talk to me. He’s made that completely obvious.”

Lane pauses and gives her a serious look. “All those times he showed up after you broke up, was there ever a time you didn’t want to see him or talk?”

Rory opens her mouth to refute, but the words die on her lips. There were times, particularly freshman year at Yale, where she didn’t want to see him, but only partially, because she didn’t want to be reminded of her broken heart. Secretly though, even after his appearances, even after pushing him away, she knew the truth. She always wants to see Jess.

Lane reads the truth in her eyes. “You’re going to Philly.”

She tries one last attempt at refusal. “But—“

Lane’s not having it. “No buts or cant’s. You are going to be Meatloaf for a day and go get your man.”

“But—“

“Ahhhh!” Lane screams, effectively shutting Rory up. Lane looks sternly at her friend, her hands on her shoulders. “Now repeat after me. I would do anything for love.”

“I would do anything for love,” Rory mutters.

“Good,” Lane nods, pushing the purse and jacket in Rory’s hands and steering her to the door. “Now go. I’ll let Emmy know. And I won’t expect you back for a week.”

“Lane!”

“What? Is that too conservative?”

Rory truly has no answer as Lane shuts the door in her face and calls out, “Have fun!”

*****

This is ridiculous.

That’s what she tells herself as she gets into her car and drives.

She has no clothes. Or overnight bag. She has no place to stay. She didn’t say goodbye to Emmy. Or her mom. She has work to do. He has work to do. He doesn’t want to talk to her. Bad things happen when she goes to Philly.

Except, she knows that last one’s not true. Only one bad thing has happened in Philly, and that was all because of her and her…. she still doesn’t even know what to call it. Revenge? Longing and confusion? An extreme case of temporary insanity? She can’t think about that first night at Truncheon without the hot coals of shame pressing against her back. She treated him abominably, and he had every right to hate her. After all, she’s only the woman that had used him, rejected him, played him like her favorite game at every turn. She’s only…

_The woman he loves?_

He’s only said the words out loud once, that snowy day in February with twinkling lights around them as they ran across the town square.

She was angry then, too frustrated with his reappearance in her life after complete silence for months that she couldn’t process the words when he spoke them. And before she knew it, he was back in his car, driving out of her life again. She rationalized that he lied, that he didn’t know what love was, because if he did, he wouldn’t leave so willingly.

But he spoke them again with his eyes at her dorm room. And again at her grandmother’s house with his newly published book. And again at Truncheon with his mouth soft against hers. And again, and again, and again until last September, when she told him… No. Thinking about then won’t do.

She swallows Lane’s words like they’re honey coating a sore throat, offering her warmth in the midst of a cold.

Instead, she remembers how he looked when she arrived at the open house, bright eyes and soft smiles, full of hope for a new beginning because she had finally come to him.

The same way he looked when she came to New York the day she missed Lorelai’s graduation.

Maybe phone calls aren’t enough, she rationalizes. Maybe he needs the reassurance that she’s standing in front of him, that’s she not a ghost haunting the grassy knolls of the moor.

She grasps the hope like a tether and pushes the pedal down as she drives further north.

*****

She makes it to Truncheon as the sun turns pink, and her first step inside feels like renaissance. The smell of old books and ink fills her nostrils and she’s captivated by the sight of books to the ceiling and posters on the wall and pens scattered across tables. Again, she feels the familiar itch to grab a pen and draw something, and she loves that creativity has made its home here.

She hears a creak of the door, and she tenses, bracing to hear his voice for the first time in months.

“Sorry about the wait….” The voice trails off and she deflates because it’s not Jess. It’s Matt. He’s stopped feet away from her, a scowl deep on his face, and she winces, because she was so preoccupied about seeing Jess that she forgot about seeing his friends. His very _protective_ friends.

She tries for a smile. “Hey Matt.”

“You.”

His hostility is a punch to her gut, and she’s left unprepared. “I’m… um…. is Jess—“

“No.” His answer is cutthroat, resolute.

She takes a step back. “Um…”

“You’re not gonna come back here and pretend like everything’s fine and dandy.”

“That’s not what I’m—"

“Do you have any idea just how cruel and sadistic you are?”

She blinks back the tears in her eyes. “I know I messed up,” she says earnestly. “That’s what I want to talk—“

“No,” Matt refutes, shaking his head. “That’s not a mess up. That’s a legitimate choice to keep throwing his heart around like he’s a freaking hacky sack.”

“Technically you kick those…” she mumbles and immediately, she knows that’s the worst thing she could possibly say.

His face swells up in barely contained rage. “This is just all a game to you, isn’t it?” he barks.

She flinches back. “I didn’t mean—”

He shouts over her. “Well it’s not fun for us! Why you sit there in your little hamlet playing gladiator with his heart, we’re the ones busy picking up the pieces, trying to keep him from drinking himself to oblivion or putting a shotgun to his fucking skull!”

She shakes at the accusation. “Jess would never—” she tries, but he cuts her off.

“How would you know?!” he roars at her.

She’s cold to her bones when she realizes she wouldn’t.

“You just inflict the damage and go back to where you come from!” Matt continues. “How about you do that now? Let’s just skip the first step, shall we?”

She stands weakly in the foyer as Matt pants with a glare. Before she takes another step backwards, Chris appears at the foot of the stairs.

“Matt,” he calls. “We just got the new shipment of Ada Limón’s latest. Why don’t you go back and work on putting it on the shelves?” He gives Matt a leveled look and Matt slowly relaxes.

Matt throws her a final look of disgust as he passes Chris to head to the back stockroom. Chris slowly approaches her.

“Hey Rory,” he greets gently.

She bites her lip to steady herself. “Is what he said true?”

“You know Matt. He’s exaggerating. A bit.”

She stares at the pity in his eyes until she can’t anymore. She brushes past him. “I need to speak to him.”

“He’s not here,” he calls behind her.

“Then I’ll wait,” she retorts as she reaches the stairway. “Apartment unlocked?”

His voice halts her halfway up the stairs. “I don’t think you’ll like what you find.”

She slowly turns on the step. “Why?”

“He’s moving,” he reveals, and the steps disappear under her feet. She falls.

_dufflebags, and buses, old cars, and dark streets, bar alleys, mute calls, her dorm room, her house_

“Moving…”

Chris just looks at her sadly.

“I should get back to work.”

He leaves, and she feels like she’s a wisp tossed about in hurricane winds.

There is no eye of the storm.

*****

He busies himself with _Hardened as Glass_ ’s book launch, dealing with the parts of the job that he actually hates. Like talking on the phone and the general ass kissing that comes along with it. But he sucks it up. Gets the job done. Books the venue and gets the decorations in place.

(Truncheon has proven too small in past years for moderate success, and they’re anticipating a bigger crowd this time, so it makes sense to do it elsewhere.)

He just wishes he could have picked a better date for the party.

He never paid attention to Valentine’s Day before, ever too much the cynic to truly partake in the holiday, but now, with Rory’s rejection still fresh in his mind, he can’t help but be reminded of how truly pathetic he is at every single heart or cupid he sees.

Paula Wilkens, an author they’ve worked with before, comes down from New York a few days before the party.

She’s cute. Blonde, petite, with wit and ass for days. Someone he would have claimed was his type until Rory.

He takes her as his date. Nothing serious. Shows her around to a few business associates. She shows him a few of her own. It’s simple, and he finds himself at ease in the presence of her conversation.

Matt and Chris buzz around him like junkies, and he chuckles. He’s excited too. This is big for them.

After a bit of mingling, Keller calls him from behind.

He turns and his world stops.

She’s here.

And she’s dressed in red.

The lady in red.

God, when did he turn into Chris De Burgh?

He can’t help it though. Cause seeing Rory like this only makes him think back to that wacky dance marathon, of her breaking up with Dean and telling him she liked him for the first time.

He must have _really_ done something terrible in a past life because this is torture.

Keller calls him again and he snaps out of it, walks over to where Keller is standing with Rory.

She locks gazes with him, and he doesn’t register another word until it’s uttered from her lips.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Janice brought me along,” she explains, and he almost turns his head to look for her. He hadn’t noticed.

“Said I couldn’t miss it,” she continues. “After all, it’s—”

“Damien Keller.”

She smiles. “Yeah. Damien Keller.”

They fall back into silence and Jess is sure he’s staring like a leer, but he can’t help it. He has yet to find someone with more beauty.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to force myself into your work or anything.”

“I wouldn’t think you would.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just…” she trails off, and Jess finds himself hungry for her words. She looks back at him. “I tried to call you, and you never called back, so I wasn’t sure if…”

He’s despicable. “Yeah…” he drawls. “I’ve been busy.” A pathetic excuse.

“I’ve heard.”

He stares, and she points behind them. Right. Damien Keller.

He should have invited her. He would have, but… he tries to articulate it into words, “I wasn’t sure if… I didn’t know with us if...” He should seriously think about giving up his pens.

She seems to understand him just the same. “Right.”

“Yeah…” He knows they can’t really have a conversation until they tackle the dick in the room so, he asks, “How is everything with—”

She’s as quick as she always is, following the trail of his thoughts with ease. “He’s back in London. Left right before New Years’.”

Jess can only stare. “What?”

Rory locks eyes with him. “Yeah. I mean, he asked for a few months. I gave him a few months. Nothing more.”

Nothing more. If he didn’t know better, he thinks she’s trying to tell him something. But Jess doesn’t dare hope for it. Not now.

“Emmy?” he asks, desperate for a redirect.

She smiles. “She loved your Christmas present.”

He sighs in relief. “Not too much, then?”

“Not for Emmy. Though Luke, the delivery guy and Taylor might have something to say about that.”

“Interesting combination.”

“Apparently it was so heavy the delivery guy just pushed it off the truck and left it at the mailbox.”

He chuckles. “Get outta here.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes are bright and he’s helpless in their pull against him. “And Kirk of course saw it, so he went and told Taylor, who went and grabbed Coop, and before you knew it, Stars Hollow had its first bomb threat action in the history of the entire town.”

His jaw drops. “Bomb threat?”

“They even called in Hartford PD.”

“Shut the front door.”

She holds up a hand. “Get me a bible.”

“What for?”

She grins wickedly. “No return address.”

He brings his face to his hand and shakes. This is the funniest thing he’s heard in months. All this for a box of books.

“Oh man,” he finally says. “Please tell me Lorelai or someone else caught that on their phone.”

“I’ll tell Mom to send you the video when I get back.”

“I’ll be sure to send her a fruit basket.”

“You might want to send one to Luke too. He’s pretty pissed. Said if you hadn’t sent that many books in one box, he wouldn’t have had to deal with Taylor’s crap.”

He shrugs and waves his hand. “Ehh, tell him to eat some spinach.”

She salutes. “Aye aye, Popeye.”

They gaze at each other again until the good nature of their conversation dissipates back into the somber melancholy of recent interactions. They look away.

He figures this is their problem. They’re too good at this. The banter. The chemistry. Too close, but never close enough. He should start making his exit before he’s burning for her again.

“I hear you’re doing some leaving of your own.”

For a second, he thinks she can read minds, but then rational thought hits his brain.

“Luke tell you?” He grabs a glass of champagne from a waiter. Rory grabs a glass of wine.

She shakes her head. “No. Chris… um… he filled me on that one.”

He lowers the champagne flute from his lips. “Chris? My Chris?”

“Yeah.”

He furrows his brows. “He called you?”

“Um, no…” she fiddles with the wine stem of her glass. “Actually, I came to Truncheon about a month ago,” she confesses. “To see you. He told me then.”

He feels his fingers grow numb against the glass. “You came to Truncheon?”

She nods. “Yup…. He said you were out for the day, so….” 

Chris saw her and didn’t tell him anything. Not to mention the missed phone calls. Or her visit here. Christ, maybe she is trying to tell him something.

She peers back at him hesitantly. “Moving on, huh?”

He can’t answer. Moving on. He’s not entirely sure if he can or wants to. His mind’s mixed up at the moment.

She presses. “Just apartment hunting, or—”

“For now.”

“Why?”

He winces because of her tone, but she quickly amends her question. “I mean, what prompted the decision?”

There’s not an easy answer to that question either. Still, he tries, but she cuts him off before he can even get a word out.

“I mean, what if it’s just a rut? It could just be a rut. I hear they’re pretty normal. Happens to people all the time. Hey, happened to me about 5 years ago and now look where I am. Somewhat successful author about to finish another book. Which could be you in a few months or a couple years. No need to completely overhaul your life because of it. Granted, mine actually did get completely overhauled, but that’s because I got pregnant and had Emmy. Luckily you won’t have that problem, so no need for an overhaul. No need at all.”

She finishes, and there’s a lovely tinge of pink in her cheeks. And, one thing’s still certain. He’s still a sucker for a Rory Ramble.

He looks down and lets the smile fall from his face. “I wouldn’t say overhaul… Just… a reevaluation.”

“And what are you evaluating?” She’s unrelenting as always, and he doesn’t know exactly what she wants or how much else he can give her.

He settles for a breath of honesty. “Everything,” he replies. “I’m just not where I want to be right now.”

“And where do you want to be?”

He closes his eyes.

She knows the answer to this. Why is she trying to make him say it?

“Rory…” He looks at her and feels like he’s drowning.

She stares at him with watery eyes, until he thinks he’s gonna break from the pressure, and then he sees her lips move.

“I miss –”

“Jess.”

He’s not sure if he’s dreaming, if he misses her so much he’s practically willing her to say the words, but it’s a jumble in his head of a yearning confession and his name. He waits for her to say more, to say something else until he sees her looking next to him. He blinks and finally registers a hand on his arm. He turns and it’s Paula.

“Sorry for interrupting,” she says softly, looking between the two of them. “Matt said to let you know that Keller’s ready.”

He glances over the crowd and sees Keller by the stage. Keller gives him a jerk of his head, and Jess nods. Yeah, he supposes that it’s probably time to start the reading.

He glances back, and she’s looking at him with wide blue eyes, and fuck, what is he supposed to do with that?

Paula place a gentle hand on his back – he’s grateful for the distraction – and nudges him forward. He goes with her to the front of the crowd, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.

_don’t look back_

He gives himself credit that he at least waits until he’s sitting down and Keller’s done with the first excerpt, that is until he looks over and sees her slipping out the front door, gone like a wish in air.

*****

The next month flies by, almost so fast that she doesn’t have time to think about Jess. Almost. Because turns out, there are some benefits about publishing a book, namely the distraction it serves so she doesn’t have to think of his face, or his eyes, or his voice, or that woman as she leads him away.

She pressed. She knows she did. But she needed to hear him say it. Needed to hear him say that he was moving on from her. From them.

She sees the woman leading him away, and she grimaces. That’s as clear a picture as any. It might not have been verbal, but Jess was never the talkative type anyways.

“Okay,” Lane says looking over the list in her hand one final time. She’s over for the afternoon helping Rory finalize invitations for her book release party. “And finally we’ve got one for me, your mom, and Luke. None for Paris cause she’s at that medical convention in Oxford. And your grandmother’s staying in Nantucket, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, so that just leaves Jess.”

“No,” she automatically answers, despite the way it burns like a lit cigarette as it leaves her lips.

Lane just gawks at her. “What?”

“I’m not gonna send him one.” She grabs the current stack of invitations and taps them against the table to straighten them.

Lane stares at her slack-jawed. “Why not?”

Her brain has seen fit lately to give her a movie montage of her greatest hits, of when she’s truly hurt him. His broken face at the party is only the latest in an impressive repertoire.

She’s killing him. She’s ripping his guts out. Sadistic seems too soft a word now. “Because there’s no point,” she exhales.

“Is this because of what happened at the Keller party?”

She hates that everyone can read her like a book.

“Rory—”

“He said he’s moving on, Lane,” she says, stopping her friend’s statement. She looks back at the invitations in her hands. “I need to let him.” Even if it’s killing her to do so.

“He said he’s reevaluating,” Lane stresses. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Semantics.”

“And?”

Lane’s clearly not gonna let this go. “He had a girl on his arm,” Rory confesses, fiddling with the envelopes.

“Did they kiss?”

“Not that I saw, but I left early.”

“Was he flirting?”

“I-what?”

“Oh come on, you know what that looks like,” Lane says as she puts her stack down. “Banter, smoldering eye contact, that lip biting/half smirk thing he does.”

Rory leans back in her seat. “Okay, I’m starting to get worried a bit. You’re a happily married woman with two kids, remember?”

Lane rolls her eyes. “Please. Why would I not know what he looks like when he’s flirting? I’ve only had courtside seats to the Rory and Jess love saga for the last twenty years. Well, most of it anyways.”

Rory has no retort for that.

“Do you not want him there?”

She winces. She’s had enough of Jess’ absence already. “No,” she says. “I do.”

“Then send him one,” Lane says, grabbing another invitation from the plain stack on the table.

She takes it with shaking fingers. “What if he doesn’t show?” she asks, a bit of vulnerability in her tone.

Lane gives her a sad look and puts a hand on top of hers. “Then you’ll finally have your answer, and you can both move on.”

*****

She sends his invitation in the mail along with the rest adorned a silent plea.

Two weeks later, as she stands alone in the midst of friends and family with her book, she gets her answer.

*****

He sends Paula back to New York with a friendly hug. She hands him her card with an invitation to call, but he never does. It wouldn’t be fair to her, not when he’s still a mess for someone else. If the party showed him one thing, it’s that he’s failing miserably in pathetic attempts to move on.

There was a moment, a microscopic moment of hope where he thought she might have been asking him to come back. But now he reckons it’s just his mind wishing for the impossible.

She hasn’t called him. He thought she might, even if only to invite her to her book launch, which he knows is coming soon, but there’s been no word, and really, Jess can’t blame her.

After all, he didn’t invite her to Keller’s.

She still showed up, his brain helpfully supplies, and he knows he could too. He could find out the details from Luke and show up at the release, but he shakes his head at the thought. He’s done enough of that in her life, and at this point, brash, impulsive Jess is long gone. It’s not like it did him much good anyways.

No. If she wants him there, she’ll let him know. And if not…

Well, he’s supposed to be moving on anyways.

He spends the next couple of months doubling down on that notion, visiting apartments, sometimes with Luke, sometimes by himself. He has yet to find one that speaks to him though, much to the discontent of his uncle, but Jess only wants to move if he finds the right one.

His brain whispers to him that he’s already found it, and he bats the thought away as quickly as it came.

No, he needs something perfect, really perfect, so he’ll keep looking until he finds it.

Soon, the weeks give way to mid-April, and Luke is back in Philly. They’re downtown, walking back from Green Eggs Café on Locust, and Jess is seriously taking pleasure in his uncle’s surliness. Luke’s always been a bit of a grump, but hearing him almost cuss out every pedestrian they pass makes Jess think they’re back in New York.

“Aw, cheer up, Buttercup,” he croons as Luke almost gets splashed with puddle water from a nearby taxi.

Luke scowls. “Don’t call me that.”

Jess just shakes his head and cleanly sidesteps a business woman struggling with her suitcase. “I think today’s the day.”

“It better be. You’ve made me come out here three times now.”

“Well, it’s been slim pickings so far.”

“No, you’ve been slim pickings,” Luke gruffs. “We’ve seen at least 30 apartments already. You could have picked any of them.”

“Eh,” he shrugs, “they were all lacking something.”

“Wall shelves? A sturdy enough floor to handle all the books?”

He points at Luke. “You mock but remember the pain you went through with Tom during the diner renovation.”

Luke glowers at him and he smirks. “We swore we’d never talk about that again.”

“Fine, but seriously, lose the grump. I really think I’m gonna sign a lease today.” It might be wishful thinking, but he’s feeling pretty good.

“Great. Then we can hold hands and skip afterwards.”

He stops short and looks at Luke, who’s trying to hide his own smirk. “Wow, you must feel good.”

“Great now, actually.”

“I’m sure. Holding that shit in for twenty years. Must be such a relief to have that out.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Luke deadpans.

Jess scowls before grabbing the brochures out of Luke’s hand. “Gimme that.”

“Hey!”

They walk back to where they left his Charger, and Luke looks at him.

“So, Philly.”

Jess squints at his uncle. “What about it?”

“You sure you want to move?”

“No, we’ve just been doing all this concrete pounding for exercise.”

“I’m just saying…”

“What exactly?”

Luke shrugs. “If you’re looking to move, I might know a place.”  
  
Jess just stares at him. “You’re joking. You have got to be joking.” His mind sniggers at him.

“Quaint little town—”

“You mean kooky?”

“With plenty of friends and family—”

“I have plenty here.”

“Not to mention a certain blue-eyed beauty and her daughter?”

“Sure you aren’t talking about your wife?” Jess quips.

Luke just sighs. “I don’t understand how you expect to fix things if you’re absent all the time.”

“Yeah, well…” he trails off. At this point, he’s not sure they can be. Not to mention he’s supposed to be moving on.

“Definitely can’t fix things if you’re missing her book releases.”

He stops short and stares at the back of his uncle’s head. “What?”

Luke looks back. “You know, the book she just published, the book you helped her write in the first place?”

“The sequel. Yes, I know. They had the book launch already?”

“Yeah, a couple weeks ago. Where were you?”

A good question, Luke. But like he told himself, he’d only be there if Rory wanted him to be, and clearly, she didn’t.

“I didn’t know,” he admits. “She didn’t—”

“Send you an invitation?” Luke asks, cutting him off. “Yeah she did. I saw the one for you at the top of the stack.”

Jess really, _truly,_ has no answer. She sent him one? Why did he not get it? Why didn’t she call? Why didn’t she tell him about coming to Truncheon sooner? Why did Matt and Chris hide that from him?

Luke frowns. “You really didn’t know?”

He weakly shakes his head. But he could have found out. He should have found out.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Oh, that former president of ours, what a guy. It’s been two years since he’s been gone, and we’re still having trouble with getting mail on time.”

As much as he might like to blame Trump, and really, fuck that guy, he can’t help but think that it has less to do with the worst president ever and more to do with a certain friend closer to home.

“Alright then,” Luke says, breaking his train of thoughts. “Where are we headed now?”

*****

He ends up being right. He finds a place. A pretty apartment complex in Chestnut Hill, one of the more historical neighborhoods towards northwest Philadelphia. He and Luke take a look at the apartment, typical in furnishings, and then walk around the premises. When they find themselves standing on a bridge overlooking a pond that stretches towards Wissahickon Valley Park, somehow Jess knows he found the right place.

He ignores the way it reminds him of Larson’s dock as he signs the lease and hands over the check.

He makes it back to Truncheon a few hours after Luke leaves, and when he enters the apartment, he sees Matt writing at the kitchen counter. Chris is on the sofa, with a drawing pad and charcoal in his hands.

Perfectly content in life while he’s just doing his best not to explode in his. And that’s without the meddling.

He grits his teeth to keep in the scream that wants to burst out and walks up to Matt.

He holds out his hand.

Matt glances up at him in confusion.

Jess just glowers at him. The more he’s thought about it, the more he knows it was Matt.

Matt’s face falls in realization. He sets his pen down, slides out of the bar seat, and heads to his room.

Chris looks up from his drawing with furrowed brows.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Jess ignores him and waits.

Matt comes out of his room a few minutes later, a dark blue envelope in his hands, and Jess’ heart sinks.

When he takes it from him, it’s like the flames of hell have opened into the pit of his stomach with the way he burns with shame. Cause there, at the top right corner in her small, neat, handwriting, is her plea: _please come?_

“Jess,” Matt starts before he stops and looks at the floor, remorse on his face. Good. He should be.

Jess takes a shuddering breath before he speaks. “I understand why you did it. Why you kept this from me,” he holds up the envelope, “why you hid the fact that Rory came to Truncheon.”

Chris’ face falls to mirror Matt’s.

“But this is my life,” Jess continues. “And what happens between myself and Rory is my choice.”

“Jess,” Matt tries, shaking his head.

“MY CHOICE!” Jess bellows, and Matt wisely shuts up.

Jess pauses and takes a few deep breaths to recollect himself.

He looks at the envelope and winces. “This isn’t just an invitation,” he states firmly.

They don’t know the significance, but he does. After all, this is his move, straight out of 21-year-old Jess’ playbook. And though she may have possibly had less than noble intentions when she showed up at Truncheon those many years ago (honestly, he still doesn’t fully know why she did), she at least still showed up. But he, thanks to his dumbass friends, deserted her. Again.

He knows they won’t understand. They never have. So, he can’t really explain why this is the worst kind of betrayals. Instead he goes with the profession. That, at least, they’ll understand.

“I was her editor,” he stresses, looking at both of them. “I helped her with this book. At the very least, I should have been there out of professionalism. And you had no right to take that away from me.”

“Jess—”

He holds his hand up and sadly shakes his head. “I signed a lease today. I’ll be out this weekend.”

He quickly goes to his room and shuts the door. He grips his face, running his fingers over it in frustration.

Somehow, he knows it’s too late. But she reached out, so he’s at least got to try.

He pulls out his phone and quickly dials Rory’s number.

It goes to voice mail and he freezes, unsure of what to say all of a sudden. Sorry seems too insignificant, and blaming Matt and Chris, albeit deservedly, seems like a desperate excuse.

He hears her voice on the message, and he ends the call without saying anything at all.

*****

He’s back in Stars Hollow before he knows it. It’s the beginning of May, when red maples bloom like mulberries in the summer, and the weather turns warm, and Luke seriously won’t stop calling him to finally come help him put the bookshelves up. He agrees, if only to shut him up, and now he’s back in front of twin Gilmore houses, feeling uneasy, despite the fact that the Jeep and three Gilmore girls are gone.

For him, spring is deceptive with its promise of new beginnings and blooms. No, he knows spring to be like a new step-father that’s gone with the cash in three months; a sober kiss on top his forehead that sours with vodka and shouts of abortion; a first kiss at a wedding on the edges of summer before months of silence, a promise built on lies that’s inevitably broken and stuffed in a dufflebag; a heart poured out in desperate declaration refused without a second thought; a last kiss within a decade he was sure would lead to many more.

No, spring likes to mock him, remind him that there are no new beginnings. Just moving forwards unless he’d like to be like a branch bare from the frosts of winter. 

He follows Luke to the hardware store and helps him select the right kit. They buy four and load the materials into his trunk and Luke’s truck bed.

They make it back to the house shortly before noon and quickly get to work, grabbing the shelves and cases to carry into Emmy’s room.

And great. Now the wood’s mocking him. “If I get one more splinter,” he growls as he sucks at his finger, “I swear I’m suing.”

“Oh, stop your moaning there, Myrtle,” Luke says with a roll of his eyes. Jess is going to have to come back to that later because his uncle and Harry Potter? Too mind-blowing for words. Then again, the man did love his Star Trek. He’s jerked back to the conversation by Luke as he continues.

“Besides this is your fault,” Luke says with a grunt.

“How is it my fault that we’re carrying a hundred planks of wood?”

“You’re the one that bought Emmy over a hundred books for Christmas!” Huh. Rory was right. Luke is _still_ pissed.

“That was over four months ago!” he shoots back. And he still has yet to see that video.

“Well, the diner’s been swamped lately. I haven’t had the time to come over and build these yet. And when I did have the time, I was in Philadelphia helping you out.”

“Fine,” he groans out. “Let’s just -- get this -- over with,” he grunts through clenched teeth as he climbs the steps into Rory’s house.

He freezes when he sees the living room.

Luke stops beside him and looks with him. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah, I just – It’s the first time I’ve been back here since…”

“Right,” Luke says in understanding.

They work in silence, and Jess is glad. He can’t talk about Rory anymore. He hasn’t tried to call again. She hasn’t either, so Jess surmises that that’s it. It’s really over. And all he can do now is to take spring’s advice and move forward, even if he feels there’s not much left of him to move forward with.

They finish in a couple hours, identical bookshelves squeezed into the narrow spaces along the wall, and Jess can’t help but smile. If there was one thing he could ever count on, it was his books. He loves that Emmy follows after him and Rory in that regard.

They exit the bedroom, and Jess grabs his jacket from the couch.

“Thanks for the help,” Luke says with a smirk.

“Next time hire some carpenters.”

“Don’t need them. I’ve got you.”

He huffs out a laugh and then hears a car door slam and a familiar scream. He looks at Luke before looking to the window. Rory’s getting out of the jeep with Lorelai, and little Emmy is already racing across the yard.

He locks gazes with Rory and finds himself unable to look away.

Luke gently squeezes his shoulder.

He hears the front door open and a squeal of “Uncle Jess!”

He wants to run. Or cry. Or disappear into the floor, but he knows he has an audience, so he paints the biggest smile on his face and turns around. When he sees her running to him, he can’t stop the smile from turning genuine. He hides it in her hair when he picks her up and holds her against his chest. Her small arms clasp tightly around his neck. He breathes her in, the smell of earth, strawberry shampoo, and freshly washed cotton filling his nostrils. He allows himself this one brief moment before he slowly releases his hold.

She leans back on his arms with a huge smile on her face. Before he can say a word, hers have taken off.

“Uncle Jess! I haven’t seen you in forever! Where have you been? Mommy says you’ve had to work, but you never had to work that much before. Is work evil? Is it trying to kill you? Why didn’t you tell me? We could have fought it together. Mommy, where are the magic glasses?”

She turns to Rory, who’s just walked in with Lorelai, for an answer and Rory stammers for a response. “Um… I— Babe we never got—”

Emmy doesn’t let her mother’s stammering stop her. She turns back to Jess and takes off again. “How long are you here for? Are you staying the night? Can we have pizza? And ice cream? And Thai food? Ooooo, can we watch Tangled? And Nancy Drew? Can we build another fort? There’s so much I want to tell you!”

God, nine months away, and he feels he’s lost all sense of Gilmore conversation. Before his mind can wrap around a question, Emmy’s taken from his arms, and he’s bowled over by the lack of equilibrium.

“Emmy, why don’t we give Uncle Jess a chance to process your questions, okay?” Lorelai says as she sets Emmy down on the ground in front of Jess before flicking her gaze over to him.

He tries for a smile, but it’s a weak, pathetic attempt. He hopes it’s enough to fool her, but when she frowns, he knows he’s in trouble. He quickly turns his focus back onto the tiny blonde in front of him.

Emmy’s beaming at him, and it’s like looking at the sun, and god he has missed her. He glances at Rory for a second, but sees her with her gaze to the floor, and he knows that he can’t stay.

“I was just here to help Luke with some things for you. But we’re done now.”

Emmy deflates slowly, and he hates himself for it. “You’re not staying?” she asks, halting, her smile sliding off her face.

He grimaces. “I can’t.”

“But you just got here.”

“I know. But I only came by to help Grandpa Luke. I’ve got to get back home now.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice breaking on the syllable. Jess panics because it almost looks like she’s going to cry. “Why can’t you stay tonight?”

Shit.

He gets to one knee and places gentle hands on her arms. “If I remember correctly, someone’s turning six in a few weeks, right?”

Emmy numbly nods.

“Have I ever missed your birthday?”

She shakes her head.

“I’ll make sure I have nothing that weekend, not even a famous author to meet with, and your mom and I will make sure I’m here bright and early okay? That way we can spend the whole day together.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she stares at him.

He gives her the warmest smile he can muster before walking towards the front door.

“Do you not love me anymore?”

It’s as if he’s in his own purgatory, surrounded by every single fear and regret he’s ever had. He turns back, and Emmy’s crying openly, shoulders hunched in insecurity.

He doesn’t think. Just acts on pure instinct; he’s by her side in a second, crouching down and gripping her by the shoulders.

“Of course I do,” he says sharply. “Don’t ever think that.”

“Then what did I do?”

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit._

“Nothing,” he stresses as he clutches her against his chest. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Then why don’t I ever see you anymore?” Her words are muffled against his shirt that’s now wet, and _shit._

He’s truly at a loss for words. He glances at Rory for help, to see if she has an explanation, but she’s frozen like him, too stricken to answer. Lorelai and Luke look much the same.

He turns back, and he knows he has to say something. He gently wipes her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Sometimes,” he starts, his voice shaky. He takes a quick inhale to steady himself. “Sometimes, when you’re grown up, you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

He runs his hands down her arms to reassure her before taking her small palms in his. He makes sure to catch her eyes before he continues. “If it was up to me, I would see you every day. But I can’t. I can’t be here all the time. I have responsibilities back home.”

“Then move here.”

When he was eighteen, he was unable to say goodbye, afraid a Gilmore girl would ask him to stay, when deep down, he knew he couldn’t. He had to leave. So he did. And now, twenty years later, another Gilmore girl utters the words, and his answer still can’t change. No wonder he and Rory are stuck.

“I can’t do that,” he says finally, shaking his head weakly.

“Why not?”

He really is in hell. “Because my job is back in Philly. My home is in Philly.”

“But we have a bookstore. We can ask Andrew. He’ll give you a job.”

Burning for all eternity. “Emmy--”

“And you can move here. Right Mommy?” She swivels her head to Rory, pleading with her eyes, and Jess can’t look.

He dreads Rory’s words because he knows, he _knows_ that as soon as she answers, they really are over.

“He doesn’t want that, babe,” he hears Rory finally say, and he feels the cracks already forming. “He wants to go back home.” She walks up and gently tries to pull Emmy away.

Emmy tries to shake her off. “I don’t want him to!”

“Emmy—"

“No!” she screams. The adults can only watch in shock as she rips herself from his Rory’s arms and runs out the front door.

He stares at the threshold with breaths harsh in his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” he hears Rory whisper, as if she’s apologizing for everything, for the last nine months, and that’s it.

His heart breaks like Ozymandias in the sand, and suddenly he can’t breathe, his hands shake, and his mind floods with memories of waiting for Liz to pick him up from school, the first time she struck him across the face, when his ex-stepdad broke his arm and she sat on the couch and laughed, when she told him before junior year that she never wanted him and he had to go.

Memories young and old overload his senses, so he does the only thing he can do.

He runs.

*****

Luke is on his heels before he even makes it to the driveway. “Okay, this has gone on long enough.”

“Luke--” His chest heaves, and god is he having a heart attack? A stroke? What do those feel like?

Luke is paying no attention to the fact that he’s about to throw up his lung. He grips his shoulder hard. “What are you?” he practically yells in his face. “Some kind of masochist that insists on torture every time? If I take another look inside your trunk,” Luke points to the black lid left open from carrying the shelves, “am I gonna find some whips and chains and other very disturbing things I have no desire to see?”

Okay, now he really does wanna throw up. “Luke—"

“Jess, you need to stop running and talk to her.”

“Tried that already,” he wheezes out.

“Then try again!” Luke barks.

And maybe he feeds off his uncle’s frustration, or maybe it’s his own, with feelings of abandonment at the back of his throat, of hearing Emmy voice every single fear he had when he was younger that he had never been able to say, or maybe it’s because life isn’t a damn Aaliyah song, but he feels his breath come back, and he snaps.

“And say what, Luke?!” Jess yells, whirling around to stare Luke down. “And say what?!”

Luke only has sympathy on his face now. “Tell her that—"

Jess cuts him off. “That I love her?”

He lets the confession dangle in the air, somber. It’s the first time he’s truly spoken those words out loud since he was nineteen.

He looks back at Luke, and he’s only staring sadly at him because Luke knows as well as he does.

“She knows that,” he finishes. “That I love Emmy? She knows that too.”

Luke opens his mouth to say something, but Jess just shakes his head and goes on, “To give me a second chance? That I’m ready for this? That she can count on me? That I will be there for her and Emmy every day for the rest of my life if she would just let me?”

Luke frowns sadly at him.

“She _knows,_ Luke. She knows.”

“Then just wait—”

“For her to come to me?” He waits for Luke’s retort. There is none. “I’ve been doing that since I was seventeen,” Jess says as he thinks of her missed phone calls and his, of the missed visit and invitation. He swallows bitterly. Deep down, he knows he missed his chance. After all, she only ever gave him one, and he blew this mini one too.

“Jess—”

“ _Seventeen,_ ” Jess reiterates.

“But you’re—”

“Family?” Jess guesses. “Yeah, she knows that too.”

Jess lets his head droop towards his chest, feeling completely drained. Drained from hoping. Drained from loving. Drained from holding on. He hears Rory’s apology from moments before, and he accepts it.

Jess lets the truth fall from his lips. “We’ve pushed each other away too much. There is nothing to talk about anymore.”

It’s quiet for a moment, until Luke says resolutely, “Then I’ll talk to her.”

Jess’s head snaps up because _jesus_ his uncle is stubborn. “Luke,” he warns.

Luke ignores him and marches towards the house. “I might only be her step-dad, but I’m putting an end to this right now.”

“Luke!” Jess quickens his steps to catch up and grabs Luke’s arm.

Luke shakes him off. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” he growls, twisting his cap with both hands before striding over to the stairs.

Jess reaches out again. “Luke!” He’s able to stop him on the top step.

Luke points at the door. “I’m gonna go in there and –”

“Say what?” Jess challenges. “What are you gonna say that I haven’t already?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Luke,” He moves to grab his shoulder, but Luke stops short, and Jess almost runs into him.

“Huh.” Luke says. He’s looking through the porch window.

“What?” He follows his uncle’s gaze and sees Rory and Lorelai in Emmy’s bedroom.

“Looks like Lorelai already beat me there.”

Jess can’t help but grimace because somehow, he knows that he’s going to get blamed for this. Lorelai always blamed him for everything.

“Don’t make that face.”

Jess looks back at his uncle. “I’m not making a…. face.”

Luke just looks at him steady. “There’s no need. She’s rooting for the two of you.”

Lorelai? Rooting for him? Jess scoffs, “No, she’s not.”

When he looks back, he sees Luke looking at him with his eyebrows raised. Jess furrows his own and thinks back the past couple of years. Slowly, he remembers the family dinners, the meet-ups at the diner, that one breakfast they shared months ago, and aside from the usual bickering they do, there weren’t any kind of digs or warnings in regard to dating Rory.

The tension releases from his shoulders. “Huh,” he says thoughtfully.

“Yeah, she’s been holding her tongue, waiting for Rory to figure it out for herself, but apparently you two are peas in a pod, so I expect that’ll be a long conversation.”

“Right,” Jess drawls, looking back to the window. In it, Lorelai looks very animated, and he winces when he sees Rory’s face crumble and she sinks into the bed.

He thinks Luke might be right. He leans over to him and whispers, “When the alarms start ringing, make sure you run for cover.” He knows as well as anyone that when the Gilmores go nuclear, everyone’s a casualty.

“Why do you think I followed you out here?” Luke mutters back.

A chuckle escapes the both of them.

“You good?” Luke asks him as he claps him softly on the back.

Jess nods as the weight of the last few minutes comes back to him. “I will be. Give Emmy a hug for me?”

“You got it. Send me a text when you get back to Philly.”

“Uncle Luke,” he says as he steps down and heads to his car, “it’s almost like you care about me.”

Luke just rolls his eyes. “Goodbye, smartass.”

Jess gives a quick turn of his lips as he shuts his trunk and hops inside the Charger. He watches his uncle walk back inside the house, and the small smile falls from his face before he slowly pulls out of the driveway.

He lets The Smiths, and unknowingly something else, accompany him back home.

*****

When Emmy rips herself from her grasp and runs out the front door, Rory feels as if an avalanche crashed on top of her.

She bites her hand to cover her sob and quickly runs inside Emmy’s room, shutting the door behind her.

Lorelai opens it two seconds later, looking as stern as Emily in her worst moments.

Rory puts a hand up in a desperate attempt to stop what she’s sure will come out of Lorelai’s mouth. “Don’t start.”

“Start what? I haven’t said anything.”

She doesn’t need to. Disappointment and frustration are written all over her face.

Rory just shakes her head. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well too late.”

“Mom, please—”

“Not this time, kiddo,” Lorelai states firmly. “I have been biting my tongue for months, which as we both know, is like me eating raw onions. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Mom—”

“What is going on with you and Jess?”

Rory presses her lips together and does her best not to say anything.

Lorelai’s frown deepens. “Rory.”

“What happened to me being an adult and not having to talk to you?”

“You’re an adult? I’m sorry. I couldn’t tell with all the immaturity going on around here.”

“This coming from the queen of immaturity!”

“HEY!” Lorelai suddenly yells and Rory flinches. “My five-year-old daughter didn’t run away from me in tears because of something I did!”

Rory feels like she’s been slapped.

“Now what is going on? Why is today the first time we’ve seen Jess in months?”

She turns away from Lorelai. “Nothing,” she mutters, guilt clawing away at her chest.

“Rory.”

“Nothing, okay?” she yells, because if she has this conversation now, she’s going to break. “Nothing’s going on!”

“That in there-” Lorelai points to the living room “-was not nothing.”

Rory remains quiet, cause really, there isn’t anything she can say. Her mom is right, and she knows it.

The truth rattles in a list around her head. Because she’s a horrible person. Because she pushed him away. Because she takes him for granted. Because Jess will always follow her lead, no matter if they’re teenagers being reckless in love or two adults tip-toeing around each other in a mirage of domesticity.

But she can’t say the truth. Not to her mom, who always chose Luke. Instead, “I don’t know,” falls from her lips. Denial’s always been her strong suit.

Lorelai’s not having it. “Rory.”

“It’s Jess. You know how he is.” The excuses just tumble from her mouth. “Impulsive, closed off, sarcastic--” It’s like she’s describing herself. Why is she like this?

Even Lorelai’s surprised. “You mean dependable, caring, and witty? Cause that’s the only guy named Jess I’ve seen the past ten years.”

“Maybe he’s reverted.” _When was that, Rory?_ “Everyone’s bound to mess up again sooner or later.” _Like she did?_ “And he always did have a penchant for running away.” She’s sick to her stomach with the lie. Even his recent avoidance of phone calls is her fault.

She takes a glance at her mother and freezes. Lorelai’s face is cold, hardened with anger, still as a statue. Which of course reminds her of Jess. She always thought they were cut from the same cloth, just with different backgrounds, but the way Lorelai’s looking at her now makes her think that maybe she had in fact spent 16 years on the streets in Hell’s Kitchen instead of the lavish comfort of Richard and Emily Gilmore’s mansion.

“No.”

Rory shivers at her mother’s tone.

“You do not get to stand there and throw his teenaged mistakes back in his face, especially when he wasn’t the only one running.”

Rory swallows thickly as her throat dries. “I never—”

Lorelai cuts her off. “I kissed a boy and I liked it, so much so that I took the midnight train going to DC. It might not be as sunny as California, but hey! it still looks like a good place to run away from all my emotional problems.”

 _Prick._ “That wasn’t--”

“My ex who left without saying a word just came back from his Kerouac adventures and practically asked for my hand in marriage--” _god, her mom saw it too_ – “and instead of dealing with the fact that he hurt me and I missed him and I loved him, let’s turn around and sleep with my safe and married ex-boyfriend before running away to Europe with my grandmother for two months.”

 _Too close._ “I didn’t--”

“My boyfriend cheated on me, and instead of doing what everyone else does and finding some loser at a bar for a one-night stand, I go to my ex and make out with him until I freak out cause oops! I did it again. I fell for Jess.”

Stabbed in the heart by her own mother, voicing the regrets she couldn’t stop thinking about. “Stop,” Rory pleads as her knees shake. There’s no way she’s not held together by glue at this point. And coffee.

Lorelai’s unyielding. “I will, once you tell me what happened between you two. Or do I need to hurry up and find you a notebook and pen so you can write about it and I can read it in your next novel? Cause I’m not gonna wait another 15 years to get to the truth.”

“What happens between me and Jess is between me and Jess.” A final feeble attempt at deflecting.

“Not when it affects my granddaughter!” Lorelai booms, eyes flashing like lightning in a storm. “Or did you not hear what Emmy said in there?”

Her beautiful intelligent daughter.

She promised herself that Emmy would never feel how she did growing up. That she wouldn’t feel abandoned by her dad, that she wouldn’t feel unloved. That she’d make sure Logan would be there when her dad wasn’t, that Logan wasn’t Christopher.

She had failed. She had broken her promise.

She had hurt Emmy.

She whimpers as denial and excuses leave her. “No, I heard,” she whispers as her knees buckle and give out. She lands softly on her daughter’s bed.

Lorelai softens. “Kid, I get it. This thing between you and Jess is complicated and messy, and if this was fifteen years ago, I’d be all for separating him from your life—"

 _It’s not. It’s not complicated._ Rory bites her lip hard to keep it from wobbling.

“—And 35-year-old me can’t believe I’m saying this, but he’s not that troubled teen anymore. He’s grown up, lost the attitude and leather jacket. He’s successful, stable, supportive, and he adores the both of you.”

Rory can’t say a thing because she knows. She knows.

“What happened?”

And finally, Rory lets the excuses fall. “I kissed him.”

“Obviously.”

She frowns at her, and Lorelai just rolls her eyes.

“Sweets, I’m not so old as to not remember what sleepover means. Though I hope for Emmy’s sake, you guys were way more discreet than when you were kids. I still have that image of you guys on the couch burned in my brain.”

“Mom!”

“I’m just saying. Immortalized in here.” She taps her forehead.

“That’s not—” she shakes her head at her mother’s crassness. “You don’t have to worry about that. I mean, we haven’t…” she trails off. She’s quiet beside a still Lorelai, but eventually the silence gets to her and she looks at Lorelai.

Her mom’s looking at her the same way she looked when Rory first told her she was pregnant with Emmy. Shocked in horror. “No,” Lorelai breathes.

“What?” She didn’t need to ask that. Again, she knows.

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

“Still?”

“Yes, still.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Rory grumbles in what is clearly a lie.

Lorelai opens her mouth like a fish for a minute. She looks away and looks back again. “Is he gay?”

“What?! No!”

“Are you?”

“Mom!”

“Honey, it’s been twenty years!”

Rory looks at her lap. “I know.”

“I have a monk for a daughter.”

“Emmy’s very existence says that’s a lie.”

Lorelai turns back to her. “How?”

“There’s just never been a good time.”

Lorelai looks like she wants to argue, and Rory quickly cuts her off.

“I thought you wanted to hear what happened.”

“Fine,” Lorelai relents. “Continue.”

“We kissed and then a few days later, Logan shows up.”

“I was wondering about that.”

“He said he wanted…” She swallows the burning at the back of her throat. She’s not sure she’ll ever forgive him. “He said he wanted to spend time with Emmy.”

“A reasonable request,” Lorelai adds. “He is her father, after all. Better late than never. And then what happened?”

And now for the hard part. “He asked for that time to be alone,” she forces out.

Her mother frowns. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning he didn’t want Jess around.”

She doesn’t even need to look to know Lorelai’s aghast.

“Oh Rory, you didn’t.”

She does her best to press her lips together, to keep the sobs in, but she doesn’t think she was ever strong, and the sobs easily fall from her lips.

Lorelai’s quick to grasp her in a hug.

“He said to give him a few months,” Rory chokes out as the tears steadily fall. “Just to get to know Emmy, and then me and Jess could get back to…” she breaks off as the weight of her decision falls on top of her again.

Lorelai presses kisses into her hair.

“I’m such a fool,” Rory moans.

“No. You just trusted him.”

“He proposed.”

“You told me.”

“And Odette’s pregnant.”

She can feel Lorelai tense up beside her. She looks at her in even more shock, and Rory can only grimace and look back at her lap.

“Why that pompous, stuck-up, snot-nosed, English, giant twerp, scumbag, fuck-face, dickhead, asshole!” Lorelai finally yells.

Her chest vibrates with the quiet laugh. “So, Grandma didn’t tell you, Otto?”

She didn’t know Lorelai could look even more shocked. “El Diablo knew before me???”

“She’s the one that told me. Apparently, Odette had an affair and got pregnant.”

“No!”

Rory just helplessly shrugs her shoulders.

“Is that why he went back?” her mom asks. Rory knows without her saying a word that she’s thinking of Sookie’s wedding.

Rory shakes her head. “No. He picked Lorelai this time, not Sherry. Lorelai just didn’t want him.”

Lorelai smiles in understanding. “Because of Jess.”

Rory wipes her nose with her sleeve.

“And what’s happening there?” Lorelai asks.

“Nothing,” she admits. “He won’t answer my calls. He didn’t come to the release party. I think… I think I really lost him this time.”

She thinks of the way he froze only moments ago, of his face when he saw her, of the way he ran after she tried to apologize, and her chest starts heaving with fresh sobs.

“I just wanted different for Emmy.”

“Oh sweets.”

“I love our life together.”

“I know.”

“I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“But?”

Rory swallows, not wanting to hurt one of the best people in her life. “But there’s a part of me that will always wonder what it would have been like if Dad had actually been around. I just didn’t want Emmy to grow up like I did, with those kind of doubts.”

“Sweets, have you ever tried to keep Emmy away from Logan?”

“You know I haven’t.”

“Then her not having a relationship with him is on him. No one else. Not on you, or Emmy, or even Jess. It’s on Logan. And frankly, after everything you just told me, he’s even worse than I thought, and my opinion of him wasn’t that great to begin with.”

“I just—”

“I know.”

“I ruined everything.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lorelai says reassuringly.

“Yes, I did. I pushed Jess away and kept Emmy from him, and now they both hate me.”

“No, they don’t.”

“I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible mom.”

“No, you’re not,” Lorelai reiterates. “You’re so far from being horrible, you’re actually close to perfect.”

Rory lets out a watery scoff. “Your bias is showing.”

“Okay, maybe, but you’re my kid. I’m allowed a little bias. Listen, you’re doing the best you can, and that’s all anyone can do. Everyone makes mistakes. The important thing is to learn from them and vow to do better next time. Jess and Emmy, they both love you.”

Rory thinks there’s no point since she’s missed her chance.

“You should talk to him,” Lorelai says firmly.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

“You could start with ‘I love you’.”

Rory’s head snaps up and she stares wide-eyed at her mother.

Her mother only smiles sadly at her. “You know, it’s funny. I always thought Jess was just this mild rebellious stage in your teenage years, the ‘bad boy’ phase that every girl goes through once in her life. You get swept in the dark mysteriousness and vulnerability he only shows to you that makes you feel special. But then he hurts you and you move on with your life. Except, you never really did, did you?”

“Have you told him that recently?” Lorelai asks gently.

She bites her lip. No. She hasn’t. And she’s starting to think doing so would have solved everything. But she’s never had her mother’s or Jess’ brashness.

“Have you ever told him?”

Rory opens her mouth to retort that she thinks she did, once, a long time ago on the phone, but eventually she closes her mouth because she realizes that ultimately, _I think I may have loved you_ isn’t a declaration. It’s a resignation.

“Oh honey,” Lorelai says, looking as pained as Rory feels.

She has no excuse. Twenty years of loving and not a single word uttered. She’s truly pathetic.

Lorelai tries to soothe her with circles on her back. “Why not?”

“Because…” she trails off. There’s never been a right time? Because she’s always been scared of this connection with Jess?

Lorelai understands her without her saying a word. “Remember what I told you after you and Dean broke up that first time?”

Rory swallows hard. “Yes,” she croaks out.

Lorelai nods and then pulls Rory to her. “I think I taught you all the wrong things about love,” she says, continuing the circles. “I spent all that time going back and forth with your dad, with guys like Max, or Alex, or Jason, while the right one was right there in front of me. Luke and I, we messed it up our first time too, you know? And we didn’t have the excuse of being teenagers.”

Rory coughs a laugh through her tears.

“But,” her mom continues, “it took your grandfather dying for me to realize just how much time I wasted being scared. Now, Luke and I are happy, but we missed out on some things because we waited so long. Because we were scared to mess things up. But it turns out change is good. Amazing even. Turns out there was nothing to be afraid of, not when it’s right.”

Lorelai loosens her embrace and looks at Rory. “Remember when you were in your last semester, about to graduate from Yale? You asked me why things didn’t work out with me and your dad?”

Rory nods. “Because it was always Luke.”

“Yeah. And a part of me still can’t believe I’m about to say this, but maybe, honey, for you--”

“It’s always been Jess.” It’s freeing to finally say the words. She wipes her cheeks.

Lorelai smiles. “I guess it’s just something about those Danes men we Gilmores can’t resist.”

“They’re the best.”

“You know, I’ve been telling you this for years, but don’t be me."

“Too late.”

“Not in this,” her mom says with a shake of her head. “I wouldn’t give Luke up for anything—”

“Not even for a chocolate fondue fountain?”

“Hmm… tempting, but nope.”

“Taylor’s megaphone?”

“Ooo! Dirty! But no. Miss Patty can have it.”

“Endless supply of coffee?”

“Already got it. Married my supplier.”

“So that’s what he’s good for.”

“That and among other things, particularly his mouth when he—”

Rory leans away from Lorelai. “Mom! Gross!”

Lorelai chuckles and sobers for a minute. “Some of those dreams, we’re not gonna have. I don’t want that for you. I want you to have everything.”

“I know.” Rory exhales a shaky breath.

“You want him?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure? Cause technically he’s your cousin now—”

“Mom!”

“I’m just saying, if you’re gonna knock boots with your cousin, you should be aware of the risks.”

“We’re not even blood related.”

“Birth defects for any future kids.”

“ _And_ now you’re leaving.”

“Possible genetic disease.”

“Bye!”

Lorelai only smirks as she stands up and walks to the door. She turns for a second in the doorway and gives her daughter a supportive smile. “Go get him.”

*****

She sits on the bed, minutes after her mom has left, after Jess drove away, rubbing her face and drying her eyes. It takes her some time, but eventually Lorelai’s words settle into her heart and give her courage. She springs off the bed and grabs her keys off the dining room table, ready to hop into her car and drive to Philly.

She stops at the front door.

The same front door her daughter ran out of.

Emmy.

She quickly looks at the living room, the kitchen, upstairs in her room. She heads outside and looks at both porches, the swing set in the back yard. She runs over to her mom’s house and looks in her living room, her old room.

There’s no sign of Emmy anywhere.

Terror grips her tight as the very real possibility that Emmy has run away enters her brain.

She screams. “MOM!!!!”

*****

He makes it back to his apartment a quarter before seven, and he can’t muster up the energy to even feel relief as he unlocks the front door.

He’s completely drained. Physically, mentally, emotionally as if he’s a bear still shaking off the hibernations of winter.

Moving was supposed to make things better, and for a little bit, it had. The new space seemed to unlock the parts of his creativity that allowed for words to flow out onto the page, but everything else is just as much of a clusterfuck as it had been for the past nine months.

Spring apparently had no good advice for him.

He throws his keys onto the counter, grabs a beer from the fridge, and sinks down onto his sofa.

He does his best to block out Emmy’s cries from his mind, but he’s fighting a losing battle.

_Do you not love me anymore?_

_What did I do?_

He quickly opens his beer and guzzles it. And as if fate would have it, the meddling mocking trickster, his phone rings, and it’s Rory.

He stares at her name on his phone as Emmy cries in his mind. Haunted by both Gilmore girls. At this point he’s worse than Heathcliff.

But Luke said to talk to her, and after today, it’s clear that they really _really_ need to. He clicks “accept” and brings the phone to his ear.

“Hey Rory,” he sighs.

Her sob has him standing immediately. “Jess—”

He’s heard Rory cry before, might have been the cause of it a time or two, but nothing like this. Nothing that makes goosebumps break out on his skin, his hair stand on end.

“What’s wrong?” he asks urgently.

“Emmy--” she chokes off and he’s turned to stone.

“What happened?” he whispers. He tells himself they’re in Stars Hollow. Nothing bad happens in Stars Hollow, but her reply guts him completely.

“She’s gone.”

“What…” he can’t even get the words out. He doesn’t know how he’s still breathing. Or standing. Or living. He’s barely aware of the silence on the phone until he hears Lorelai’s voice.

“Jess.” Tearful, but more measured, and Jess gulps down his panic.

“Lorelai?” He doesn’t even have the energy to hear how high his voice sounds. “What does she mean?”

“She’s missing.”

“Missing?” he croaks.

“We’ve had all of Stars Hollow out searching for the past three hours and we can’t find her anywhere.”

He doesn’t need another moment to think. He’s halfway out the door, keys in hand, as he tells her “I’ll be there in three hours.” He hangs up in the outside corridor as he runs towards his car.

“Jess!” he hears as he reaches the parking lot.

It’s his neighbor, and inwardly he curses. This is why he never socializes if he can help it. Someone always wants something at the worst opportune moment.

“Jess! Wait a minute. This—”

“Not now, Walter!” he screams. “I’ve got a bit of emergency!”

He makes it to his car in three strides, keys ready to unlock the door when he stops.

His trunk is open.

And just as the thought makes its way into his brain, he feels a sudden force on his legs. It knocks him forward a few steps, and when he looks down, all he sees is blonde hair.

He stops breathing.

Tiny hands clutch at his jeans, and a face that comes up almost to his hip is squeezed against denim, blonde braids hanging down her back, and Jess doesn’t know how long he’s staring at her, but eventually he finds his breath, his voice, and he dares to ask, “Emmy?”

Slowly, she lifts her head up to look at him, and Jess crumbles to the ground in relief, grabbing her and holding her tight against him. He thinks he’s being rougher than he should be, but she clasps back as strongly as she can.

“What are you doing here?” he gruffs into her hair.

She just squeezes him tighter in response and his eyes resettle on the trunk, as if in answer to his question. He freezes.

“Emmy, were you in my trunk?” he asks, his voice low and shaky.

She tries to burrow further into his chest, and he knows that’s how she’s here. But he can’t be mad at her, so he relents a little.

“Nevermind,” he says, adjusting his hold on her. “Answer that in a bit. I need to call your mom.”

He pulls his phone back out of his pocket and quickly hits her name at the top of his call list.

It only rings a second before she answers. “Jess.”

“I got her.”

“What?”

“I have her. She’s okay.”

“You have Emmy? How?”

He side-eyes his trunk long and hard before he lets the truth tumble from his lips. “She hid in my trunk.” Which now officially makes him a kidnapper. Add that to the list of everything else that’s wrong with his relationship with Rory. God, what is she going to think?

“She hid in your…” Rory trails off and Jess can’t bring himself to hear anymore.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the phone at Emmy. “Talk to your mom. She’s worried sick.”

He’s only able to pick up bits and pieces of their conversation, too engrossed in his thoughts, in his cowardice, in his worry that Rory will probably hate him now. Hell, he hates himself. What kind of a guy locks a child in a trunk?

Emmy taps him on the shoulder, knocking him out of his reverie, and he turns. She’s holding the phone back to him. “Mommy wants to talk to you.”

He nods, runs a hand through his hair, and puts the phone back to ear.

“Jess?”

He can’t even answer.

“Jess? Are you there?” Thankfully, she doesn’t sound upset. Just relieved. He guesses the anger will come later.

“Yeah,” he finally lets out. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Okay. Mom and I are on the way.”

“I can bring her back. I did technically take her after all.”

“Yeeeaaah,” she drags out. “We already left. With the way Mom’s driving, we’ll probably be there in two hours.”

“Okay.” Probably for the best. He’d keep himself away from the Gilmore house too.

“We’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon.”

She ends the call with a click and he returns the phone to his pocket with a heavy sigh. A wiggle in his arms brings his eyes back to the little blonde.

“You really missed me, huh?”

She nods.

He lets out another sigh. “I missed you too.” More than he could ever put into words. He looks to his trunk and back to Emmy before shaking his head.

“You hungry?” he asks.

Immediately, Emmy lights up, and he smiles. Better make the most of this last amount of time they’ll have together.

“Let’s go see what I’ve got in the fridge.”

******

They’ve been on the road about an hour, and already they’ve passed New York City, her mom speeding through traffic with ease. At the rate her mom’s driving, they’ll enter Pennsylvania in thirty minutes, and she’ll be in the same state as Emmy (and Jess).

Normally, that would help to ease her anxiety, but Lorelai has hit her stride with mocking for the day, and she’s currently laughing in the driver’s seat.

“It’s not funny,” Rory snaps again.

“No, it’s kind of funny.”

“Mom!”

“I wonder what kind of transportation I should take?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, you took a bus. Emmy took the trunk of Jess’ car. Now I’m wondering what I should take. Plane?”

Rory just groans in response.

“No, train. Then it could be like The Girl on the Train. Oooo, or The Transsiberian. No, Silver Streak.”

“How about The Lady Vanishes?”

“Hey!”

“Right now, you’re making yourself as popular as a dose of strychnine.”

“Well, confidentially, I think you’re a bit of a stinker too.”

Rory just grumbles in her seat.

“Hey,” Lorelai says softly, trying to temper the mood. “I was just pointing out that--”

“Like mother, like daughter. I get it.”

Lorelai nods before gasping in delight. “What would your grandmother take?”

Rory rolls her eyes. “Mom, please.”

“A helicopter? No, a boat. Oooh, Or one of those—”

Rory cuts her off by turning the radio on. Loudly.

“Hey!” Lorelai yells. “Rory!”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Try turning the volume down!”

“What was that?!” Rory cups her ear.

Lorelai leans over and yells at her, “The driver normally picks the music!”

“Driver can pick the music when she shuts her cakehole!”

Lorelai lifts one hand off the steering wheel in surrender. “All right, all right, I’m stopping.”

“Thank you,” Rory says as she turns the volume back down.

There’s a few blessed minutes of silence until inevitably Lorelai pipes up again.

“So I’m thinking that I should take Emmy home.”

Rory cocks her head in confusion. “Wouldn’t we all be going?”

Lorelai glances at her and then refocuses on the road. “I think it would be best if you stay.”

In all the commotion, Rory had forgotten she was already headed here in the first place. “Oh.”

“You don’t have to. You can come back with us. I just think—”

“Yeah,” Rory interrupts, resolved. She needs to tell him.

“Yeah?”

“If nothing else, we do need to talk.”

Lorelai nods in assent. “So, it’s decided. Emmy comes home with me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

They’re quiet a few minutes more before Lorelai says, “Maybe it’s a good thing you and Jess never had sex.”

Rory looks at her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Well, without sex, there’s no procreation, unless you’re the Virgin Mary, which unfortunately for the guys at Chilton, we can rule out—”

“Mom,” she growls in warning.

“I’m just saying. This is what happens just with the Gilmore genes. Now imagine if you combine it with the prank-pulling, ever-leaving genius of a Mariano. The kid would be unstoppable.”

Rory just reaches over and turns the knob up again.

She doesn’t turn it down the rest of the way to Philly.

*****

Jess had texted her that the door would be unlocked, so when they make it to his apartment, Rory doesn’t even knock; she flings the door and walks right in. “Emmy!”

Her daughter’s there on the couch in Jess’ lap. “Mommy!”

She meets her daughter in the middle of the room with a big hug. When she feels like she’s squeezed all the oxygen out of Emmy, she releases her.

“Did you have a nice time with Uncle Jess?”

“Yes!” Her daughter looks so much brighter, and Rory swallows back a tiny stab of guilt at that. But that’s why she’s here. She’s here to fix things.

She looks over to the couch, but Jess is resolutely looking down at his legs. She frowns, anxiety building up before turning back to her daughter.

“Good,” she says. “Because you’re not gonna be seeing anyone but me and Mom for a very, very, _very,_ long time.”

Emmy wilts in the look of her stern eye. “Sorry, Mommy.”

“Just,” she sighs, “promise me you won’t ever do that again, okay?”

“I promise.” Emmy holds out her pinky.

Rory smiles and twirls her finger around her daughter’s. “And now seal it with a kiss,” she says as she leans down and kisses Emmy’s forehead. She pulls back and rubs her daughter’s arms. “Now go over to MiMi. You’re gonna go back with her tonight.”

“I am?” Emmy asks, looking up at Lorelai as she walks over and picks her up.

“Yeah kiddo,” Lorelai affirms. “Mommy and Uncle Jess need to talk alone for awhile.”

“So I’m not grounded?” Oh, wishful thinking, babe.

“Oh no,” Lorelai says, wagging her finger. “You’re still grounded. But it’s gonna be grounded with style.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means pineapple pizza—”

Emmy’s face scrunches up in horror. “Noooo!”

“—vanilla ice cream in bowls—”

“NOOOOO!”

“—And no Nancy Drew. We’re watching Harriet The Spy all weekend.”

Emmy turns pleading eyes to her mother. “Mommy!”

Rory just shakes her head at her. “Uh-uh. What Mimi says goes.”

“Mimi’s mean,” Emmy grumbles.

“That’s what happens when you scare us like that.”

“But I just wanted to see Uncle Jess,” Emmy argues.

“Then you should have waited until we found a good time.”

“But I did wait!” Emmy cries. “I waited forever!” And Rory really has not retort for that.

“You’re not the only one,” Lorelai mutters.

As for her mother, Rory shoots her a glare.

Lorelai just smirks back and jiggles Emmy’s arm. “Alright Jack. Say goodbye to Mommy and Uncle Jess. We’ve got to hit the road.”

Emmy hops down and runs over to Rory. “Bye Mommy.”

Rory squeezes her tight. “Bye sweetie.” She lets go and Emmy runs over to the couch to Jess.

“Bye Uncle Jess,” she says, climbing into his lap and throwing her hands around his neck.

He returns her embrace. “Bye Emmy-boo.”

“You’re still coming for my birthday, right?”

Jess finally looks over to Rory before he gives Emmy a half-smile. “Your mom and I will work something out.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She gives him another quick hug before climbing down and grabbing Lorelai’s hand. Together the two of them walk out of the apartment, leaving Rory and Jess alone in the quiet.

*****

“Coffee?”

“Please.”

*****

She stands against one counter as he’s against the other, waiting for the coffee to finish. She keeps catching his gaze, but when she goes to say something, he immediately looks down, and she retreats back into herself.

She knows they’re never gonna get anywhere if she doesn’t find a way to speak up. After all, they haven’t gotten anywhere in two decades. So she slowly builds resolve as he pours the coffee into their cups.

When he turns around, she lets his name fly from her lips.

“Jess—”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s barely a whisper, but she hears it all the same.

Her words stay on her tongue.

“I didn’t even check. I just closed it.”

She gently takes a mug from his hand. “Who expects a five-year-old to climb in the back of a trunk?”

“What kind of uncle doesn’t even check to make sure?”

She hates the self-deprecation. “Not a bad one,” she says, but Jess seems to ignore her, too gone in his own head.

She waits in the silence for him to speak.

“You were right,” he eventually says. “We got too comfortable.”

“Stop,” she places the cup on the counter. He can’t throw her words back at her, not when she’s wanted nothing more than to erase them.

“She never would have done that—”

“If I hadn’t kept her away from you.” She can’t bear to hear him blame himself because, as she says, “This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. All of it.”

He finally looks at her then, and she slumps against the granite.

“When Logan asked for some alone time,” she starts slowly, gauging his reaction – he’s steady in front of her – then she continues, “that’s all it was supposed to be. Just a few months. Three tops. And honestly, I wasn’t even expecting it to last that long cause it’s Logan. I mean, you know how he is.”

She twists her fingers and keeps going. “But he ended up staying longer, and I didn’t know how to say no because he’s her father and they should be able to spend time together, but…” she hesitates, feeling uncertain in telling him the next part.

“But?” he gently prompts. One of the best things about Jess. He’ll always listen to the whole story, no matter how bad it is.

“But it didn’t feel right,” she admits. “I was miserable. Emmy was miserable. And Logan… he ended up having ulterior motives.”

She sighs. “He was supposed to come in, spend time with Emmy and go back home, and then we’d…” she has to pause to keep herself from crying.

“We’d what?”

“Pick up where we left off?”

His eyes flicker to the floor. “So, a pause?”

She nods, keeping her tears at bay. “But then I freaked, because I’m me, and I said things I didn’t even mean, and I don’t even know why I’m like this.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps his gaze on the floor.

The tears start coming down as she finally apologizes. “Jess, I’m so sorry. I’ve been so unfair to you, and you really don’t deserve it.”

And no, this isn’t the perfect time, at least not how she pictured it, but she can’t go another second without telling him the truth.

“I love you.”

He blinks at her, his face completely blank, and she’s scared to say more, but she knows it’s not enough.

“I’ve always loved you. And I’m sorry I never said it before.”

He’s as still as a statue, and even now, she can’t really read him, but again, it’s not enough. Not after everything he’s poured out.

“And maybe now’s too late, but you deserve to know…” she breaks and takes a few breaths to steady herself, “that it’s always been you for me, even when I was with someone else.”

She can’t look at him now, too afraid to see disbelief on his face. She looks down at the floor.

He doesn’t say anything, and she squirms, wishing she could say one more thing. She thinks back to that awful day at her house, the day she pushed him away, the words she said.

“Now that I think about it, maybe I did mean it.” She lifts her eyes to his and takes a breath before she speaks. “I don’t want a Luke. I want a Jess.”

*****

This is how he must have felt. The vulnerability of a real confession for the first time, the anguish in realizing you’ve messed up too much. The need to retreat burns through her body and she does, backs herself away to the front door.

“Okay then. I’ll just get out of your hair. Find a hotel somewhere. Except Mom took the car. Shoot. Bus it is then.”

Her movements seem to jerk him awake. “Rory,” he says, but she cuts him off.

“No, it’s okay. You should move on. Find someone that won’t take you for granted. I’m just gonna—” She throws her thumb behind and turns. She’s at the door when she feels his hand on her arm, stopping her.

“Rory.”

She whimpers and keeps her head down, doing her best not to shatter to glass in front of him.

He slides his hand down her arm to clasp her hand in his. She looks at their hands, and then drags her eyes up to his.

They’re soft in the dimly lit apartment, looking at her like they always have. “It’s never too late,” he whispers.

She trembles with relief, and joy, and an overwhelming need to cry, and it’s too much, too much for him too, and they both inhale and look away.

“You really broken up with Logan?”

The laugh bubbles in her chest before spilling over her lips. “Yes,” she replies adamantly. “And everyone else. I’m done running.”

“You sure?” he asks as he steps closer, a smile toying with his lips. “You have gotten pretty good at it.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, lapped me several years ago.”

“Jess,” she warns, and he chuckles.

“Come here.” He cups her face, and she yields to his pull, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips against his.

It takes them no time at all to acclimate, to remember the feel of their lips against one another, to follow when one tugs, to anchor as the other slides, He presses more firmly and so does she, arms wrapped tight around each other, erasing every inch of space they’ve had for months.

Eventually the need for breath arises, and she pulls away, rests her mouth against his shoulder as she pants. He holds her against him while she looks around his apartment. Papers on the coffee table. Books on the mantle. A big window with a view of the pond, not that she could see it at the moment. Her eyes shift to the back of the apartment, the bathroom at the back, the long narrow corridor.

She thinks of her mother’s words in Emmy’s bedroom, in the car on the way here. She thinks of Emmy being with her mom and how she and Jess are finally, _finally_ , alone.

She lifts her head and looks at him and back to the end of the apartment. “So that looks like a hallway.”

He follows her gaze and gives her a lopsided grin. “Nice deduction, Sherlock.”

“I’m guessing if we go down it, there will be a bedroom somewhere.” She nervous, but she knows she doesn’t have to be. He’ll always follow her lead.

He gauges her eyes and answers slowly. “You would be correct.”

She bites her lip before grabbing his hand and pulling him to the back. He follows willingly.

She stops when she gets to the end of the hallway, looking at the doors on either side.

He caresses her arm and pulls her to him. “Left or right?” he asks in her ear.

She shivers. “Right,” she breathes out as she turns to face him. “Definitely right.”

He smirks and just before his lips touch hers, she can hear him whisper “As you wish.” 

She grins and shuts the door. 

*****

This is what she feared.

His intensity that knows no limits, burning until she loses control, until she loses herself.

She’s Guinevere bringing down her own kingdom. She’s Pandora, opening her own box. She’s Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Her wings burn, yet instead of falling, still she flies. Her back bows towards him with every kiss on her skin, every stroke inside her. He pulls until she’s suspended in flight, his name falling from her lips, and then he pushes her, into blinding lights and stratosphere, and she scatters like particles while he swallows every gasp. 

He brings her back atom by atom with each finger branding on her, her name grunted into her ear. But she’s not herself anymore, cells now imbued with his strength, his surety of _them_ entwined with her own.

He trembles, and she steadies him: with her legs as he thrusts, uneven, her arms as he buckles on top her. She turns her head and presses her lips to his, claiming and submitting in one shared, shuddering breath.

*****

When it’s over, he rolls off and together they lie in silence, waiting for breaths to settle and pulses to return to normal. For a moment, he leaves to discard the condom, but soon he’s settling himself back down against her. They’re quiet a few minutes more, but eventually, when the gravitas catches up to her, she feels a bubbling in her chest that climbs up her throat. She releases it in a small giggle, but the joy keeps spreading, the volume increasing, and the giggles turn to loud, full-blown chortles.

She feels the bed shake beside her, and she knows he’s laughing too. Soon though, the giggles subside, and she regains control of herself. And when she turns her head to him and he looks back at her, she just grins and reaches for him again.

*****

This is what he feared.

To have her and it’s never enough.

He’s Narcissus unable to look away from Echo. He’s Tantalus stealing from the gods and thirsting for her alone. He’s Midas turning her to gold, but she’s still breathing with him. He rolls into her again and again, hands unwilling to leave her, body already attuned to her needs as if he’s a radio with one frequency: her.

He gives until he’s pushed her so high, she has to cling to him unless she falls too soon. He gives until only his name falls from her lips, affirming what he has always known. He gives until he’s sure she’s completely sated, and then he breaks, like a dam that’s been released, rushing over and through until there’s no trace left of him.

She brings him back with pieces of herself, a hand in his hair, her lips on his shoulder, her legs a steady pillar around him as she fills him to the brim once again.

*****

She’s on top of him, languidly drawing patterns on his chest while their legs intertwine. Every once in a while, her fingers dip lower, teasing him to stir, before she drags her hand back up.

They haven’t left his bed in two days, too content to stay in each other’s arms. They’re in a room full of books and have yet to pull one off the shelf. He reckons they should get up, shower, get something to eat -- she’ll surely need something soon -- but her fingers trail lower again, and he decides not yet. He hasn’t had enough yet.

“Move in with me.”

At first, he’s not sure she asked him. But when he glances down, she’s looking up at him with soft blue eyes. “What?” he asks.

“Move in with me,” she repeats.

He blinks and slowly knits his brows together. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” She’s resolute. Unwavering.

“You do know I just moved, right?”

“Yes, I know. Move again.”

He wants to mock her demanding. Still ever the despot. “What about my apartment? What about my job?”

“We can always sublease. Or I can give you the money to either break the lease or keep it. And you do most of your work on the computer.”

“I—”

She cuts him off before he can argue. “Move in.”

“You don’t think that’s too fast?” he asks, squinting his eyes at her. “We’re literally just getting back together.”

“You mean considering we’ve been moving at like one degree above absolute zero for twenty years?”

His chest vibrates as he huffs out a laugh. She’s not wrong about that.

She smiles at him before answering his question. “No, I don’t think so. I want you to. Emmy wants you to. And we’ve already wasted so much time.”

To make her point, she sinks onto him in a swift motion, and he hisses out a sigh. His hands immediately grip her hips, and he undulates under her, moving in time to the sway of her hips, until she stills and slips off. He bites back his whimper at the loss and follows her, to pull her back onto him, but she’s firm, pushing her weight with her hands into his chest.

She holds him steady with her gaze. “Please?”

“Blackmail’s illegal, you know,” he groans. He tests her with a subtle rock of his hips, but she keeps him right at the edge.

“All’s fair in love.”

He looks up at her. “No war?”

She shakes her head and simpers. “Not unless you make it one.”

He tests her again, with a slight tug this time, but she rocks her hips up and out of the way. He bites back another groan.

She leans forward, her hair falling like a curtain around them. “Please?” she asks again, her breath wisping against his lips.

And because he loves her, and loves Emmy, and he’s never been able to deny her anything, and because really, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, he agrees, and with one move, she lets him slide home.

*****

_Epilogue_

It’s a quiet morning in November with birds snuggled in their nests and the sun hiding behind the clouds. The smell of pancakes and coffee permeate the house and dishes lay stacked in the sink, unwashed. The wind outside brings a slight updraft every now and then, and she shiver slightly. She thinks there’s a leak somewhere. She’ll have to call Luke and ask him to find and fix it. She’ll also have to call her mom because – she looks out the window – she smells snow.

For now though, she’s content to smell faded detergent and aftershave, burrowing herself further into his side as she reads the news section of The New York Times. He’s got the opinions section in his, and if she looks closely, she can see a slight upturn of his lips.

He moved in the weekend after she came back from Philly, only bringing clothes, cds, and books. The rest he left at the apartment that was paid upfront for the year, a crashpad for when he has business at Truncheon.

That’s rare these days. He had to scale back his time in the day to day operations when his own writing began to take off.

She always said he needed a better publicist, and after a tag team effort between her and Keller, sending his manuscript to contests, he eventually broke out and won a Pushcart himself.

“Two fucking Pushcart authors,” Matthew cried.

“We’re fucking rich,” Chris sobbed.

And yeah, Truncheon might be a more successful publishing house these days, making enough to hire more workers and, with a little bit more luck, expand into other lucrative areas. Like New York.

She smiles as she turns to the arts section and sees his book listed at number 62 on the Bestseller List.

He’s been here six months, and she’s never been happier. She doesn’t think Emmy has either, especially the way she glowed like a star when she saw Jess move in.

“Really?” she practically screamed. “Uncle Jess, really?”

“Looks like someone got their birthday wish early,” he replied with a smirk, and then Emmy proceeded to blow out both their ear drums.

She takes her hand in his and he squeezes back. She turns back to the paper, takes a sip of her coffee every minute or two, and generally just basks in the afterglow of contentment.

But speaking of Emmy.

They hear a loud crash from upstairs, suspiciously sounding like it’s coming from their library.

She and Jess look at each other, and she waits a minute for any sound of pain before she snuggles back into his side.

A few minutes later, she hears a shout.

“Mommy!”

Rory sits up, more alert, morning coffee now on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Jess put his paper on the table with a frown. But before she could stand and take a step towards the stairs, she hears the pitter-patter of tiny footsteps, and the six-and-a-half-year-old comes flying off the steps, pigtails flapping, a huge smile on her face.

“Mommy!” Emmy yells again as she comes to a skid in front of Rory. She clutches her tiny fists behind her back.

Rory gives an internal sigh as a quick once over shows her she has nothing to worry about. She grins at her daughter as she settles back down against Jess. “What’s up, kiddo?”

“I found treasure!” Emmy exclaims triumphantly.

Rory’s eyes widen in surprise. “You did? And where exactly did you find this treasure?” She grabs her mug to take a gulp of coffee.

“In the library!”

And Emmy’s confession confirms their suspicions. “The library, huh?”

“Yup!”

“That really loud noise we heard earlier, that wasn’t you knocking all the books to the ground while you tried standing on the shelves again, was it?”

Emmy shifts her eyes to the floor, twisting her body a little bit. “Um…”

“Emmy,” Rory begins, her voice lowered in warning.

“I’m gonna pick them up.”

“That’s not the point.” She sets the mug back down and frowns. “How many times have I told you not to climb on the shelves?”

“A looooot,” Emmy drags out. “But I wanted to read Oliver Twist again.”

“Babe, that’s why you’ve got your own copy in your room. We bought you one the last time we went to Hartford, remember?”

“But I wanted Uncle Jess’ copy.”

Rory does her best to bite back her smile, cause like mother like daughter, Emmy also prefers the books with the cramped and slanted handwriting shoved into the margins. She shoots Jess a look that says _this is all your fault._

He smirks back, completely unapologetic, and she rolls her eyes, cause honestly, what else can she do?

“Fine,” she concedes, turning back to Emmy. “But this is the last time. Next time, ask one of us to get it for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Emmy replies with a sharp nod before a smile makes a way back to her face. “Guess where I found it?”

“Where?”

“In a book!”

She feels Jess still beside her, and she shoots him a curious look. He smiles back, albeit a little tight-lipped before turning to Emmy.

“Hey, you should probably put that back, don’t you think?”

Emmy frowns. “Why?”

“Because someone probably put it there for a reason, and they’ll be very upset to find it’s gone.”

“Oh.” She brings a clutched fist to her front and looks down at it.

“Yeah, so you should put that back where you found it.” He tries to shoo her with his hand.

Emmy purses her lips before she shakes her head. “Nope.”

“What?”

“Finder’s Keepers!”

Rory almost chokes on her coffee at the look on Jess’ face.

“Emmy—" he tries.

“It’s not what Dodger would do!” Emmy shouts before twisting towards Rory. “Right, Mommy?”

And Rory can’t resist. “Yeah Jess. Dodger wouldn’t give back treasure.”

She expects a look of exasperation, but she’s surprised to find traces of panic mixed with desperation. She narrows her eyes at him, studying the black of his pupils more pronounced than the usual golden-brown irises. Amusement slides off her face when she realizes he’s begging her. Weird. Jess never begs.

“Exactly what kind of treasure is it?” she asks slowly, turning her head back to her daughter.

“A ring!” Emmy declares happily as she opens her fingers. There, in her tiny palm, was indeed a ring, an aquamarine set in the center of a small circle of diamonds mounted on a silver band.

Rory lets out a squeak at the sight and trembles in her seat because seeing the ring means that Jess was going to…

And her daughter just….

Her hand flies to her mouth, and she sees Jess do the same, eyes squeezed shut in what she’s sure is embarrassment.

She can’t breathe. Or rather doesn’t dare to in case this moment disappears like a mirage in the desert. But as she stares at her daughter’s hand, in which the ring refuses to disappear, the reality of the situation jolts her senses, and suddenly she feels the itching desire to laugh, desperately, because only a Gilmore could mess up what she’s sure would have been a beautiful proposal.

She clamps her lips shut at the impulse, her teeth locked tight against skin and looks back at her daughter’s face. A wide grin stretches across, and her blue eyes are sparkling with pride. Rory can’t help the answering smile that grows from burning affection, her heart threatening to burst with happiness and love.

“What do you think, Mommy?”

Rory inhales a shaky breath and glances at Jess. He’s got his gaze resolutely on the coffee table. She looks back and exhales. “I think it’s very pretty.”

“Try it on!”

Rory opens her mouth in surprise, and Emmy rushes forward and slides the ring on her finger. It glides on perfectly, and Rory can’t tear her eyes away.

“It matches your eyes, Mommy.”

She bites her lip because it does.

“Our eyes,” she whispers.

“You should keep it.”

She looks at Emmy. “I should, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What if keeping this ring meant that Uncle Jess would be your dad?”

Emmy’s head whips back from hers to Jess’ repeatedly. Her eyes grow wide. “Really?” she asks in a wobbly tone.

“Yeah. Would you still want me to--”

“KEEP IT!!!!!” she screeches in Rory’s face. Rory bursts out laughing.

“KEEP IT! KEEP IT! KEEP IT! KEEP IT!”

She gazes at Jess, making sure he looks back at her before saying, “Yes.”

Emmy quickly scampers to Jess’ side and climbs in his lap.

“Does that mean I can call you Daddy now?”

He’s caught off-guard, and Rory loves it. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is!”

There are no words to describe the blush that paints his cheeks. She laughs and thinks this is how it was always meant to be. With her, Jess, and Emmy.

She never heard again from Logan, just like she thought she wouldn’t.

She had a few missed calls from Finn and Colin, but she ignored them, not wanting to be drawn into any more drama. They had their fun, but they said goodbye. The past should stay in the past.

A few days afterward she received a single newspaper clipping from Emily with “just desserts” written across it. It was an article about Logan and Odette’s divorce – the baby wasn’t his – with a headline reading _IS THIS THE END OF THE HUNTZBERGER EMPIRE?_

She smiled sadly before throwing the clipping away and turning back to the loves of her life.

(Her mother may have in fact later picked the clipping out of the trash purely for mocking purposes.)

She tunes back into the conversation just as Emmy is asking Jess to go to Luke’s for hot chocolate and pie.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Rory tuts. “We’re not doing anything until you go pick up all the books off that floor.”

“But Mommy—”

Rory raises her eyebrows in warning.

Emmy pouts back at her.

Jess nudges her daughter with his arm. “Hey Emmy-boo, if you go back upstairs, and put away all those books, you just might find some more treasure.” Jess winks at Rory as Emmy lights up and slides off his lap, running back upstairs.

She just grins. “What a regular Mr. Ripley you are.”

He rolls his eyes. “That’s Mr. Fiancé to you.”

Yes it is.

She slides herself into his lap as he chuckles out in disbelief.

“I can’t believe she stole my proposal,” he finally says.

She finds it hard to believe she’ll ever stop smiling. “You’re the one that insisted she needed to read Oliver Twist.”

“And I stand by that decision. Every seven-year-old needs a little Dickens in their life.”

“Well—” she shrugs.

He just cocks his head and looks at her. “Rory, she _stole_ my proposal.”

“Well, she did learn from the best, Dodger.”

He bites his lip to stop a smirk from spreading. “So much for months of planning.” He leans back into the cushions and brings her with him.

She twirls the ring around her finger as she remembers his words, and Emmy’s. She remembers where Emmy said she found it, and Rory looks back at him. “What book?” she asks softly.

He holds her gaze for a moment until he shyly looks away. “Persuasion.”

_Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it._

_There could have been no two hearts so open, no tastes so similar, no feelings so in unison._

_I have loved none but you._

Yes, she thinks, that is the perfect book for them.

And speaking of perfect…

“A perfect fit,” she murmurs softly, enjoying the feel of the ring on her finger.

“I’ve always thought so.”

She thinks of _Howl_ and beginnings, of Ernest and picnic baskets, of ice cream cones and crashes, of visits in New York, of returns and first kisses, of gas pumps and second kisses, of shared dreams and upbringings, of black eyes and concert tickets, of phone calls and goodbyes and never _ever_ wanting to let go.

She presses her forehead against his and whispers, “Me too.”

She kisses him soft and slow, savoring the moment of love between them until another loud crash breaks them apart.

They look at the ceiling and sigh in exasperation together.

A few minutes later, they hear the door creak, and the sound of footsteps descending. Rory turns and sees Emmy as she steps sullenly into the living room.

“Babe?” she asks as Emmy stands there quiet.

It takes a minute, but eventually Emmy grumbles out, “There’s no more treasure.”

She feels Jess’ huffs against her neck and she does her best to keep a stern face, but another look at Emmy and she fails.

“Come here, you goober,” she says with arms open.

Emmy quickly runs up and climbs on top of both of them. As she clutches Jess by the neck, Rory thinks of missed graduations and semester dropouts, of getting on and off buses and stolen yachts, of failed proposals and illicit affairs, of bathroom floors and bad haircuts. She decides she’d go through all of the heartbreak again if just to make it back to this moment.

Because who needs a fairy tale life with yachts and Birkin bags when she has all she’s ever needed right here.

_Fin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end. I hope the ending makes up for all the angst of this story. Can you believe that when I first started writing this, I really only envisioned a 20,000 word story? Yeah, I might have underestimated that a bit seeing as a I wrote a freaking novel. And it's not even NaNoWriMo lololol.
> 
> I'll probably come back and edit the chapters at a later time, particularly this last chapter. It doesn't feel quite as polished as the other two, and there are some grammar errors that I need to clean up eventually. I'd do it now, but quite frankly, I need a break haha.
> 
> If you could please leave a comment, kudo, or bookmark and let me know how you liked it, I would be most grateful. Thank you so much for reading. You all are truly wonderful :)
> 
> Until next!


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